Epoch: Omicron Chronicles
by JoshinYasha
Summary: The winds of war are raging in the distance as the inhabitants of Colony Omicron are unaware of what builds. Depth Charge must prepare to face the battle that will change the entire universe.  Sequel to Epoch: Ascension
1. Another Day

_Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission._

_**Disclaimer:**__ No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified._

_**Dedications:**__ Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favorites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better._

_**Author's notes:**__ Yeah . . . this only took forever. Regardless, here's the first chapter of Omicron Chronicles. This series is the direct sequel to _Epoch: Ascension_, and will be uploaded chapter by chapter until completion. I hope everyone who reads it will enjoy it!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Epoch:<strong>

**Another Day**

**Joshin Yasha** (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

* * *

><p>The three cutter ships were fast, but Jazz³ was more than capable of holding his own against them. As the third generation-sired, it had been expected of him to be a racer, but Jazz³ had preferred the extreme velocity of jet thrusters and wings. And he knew the fields outside Omicron, unlike the three cutters soaring ahead of him. He felt confident about taking care of the thieves on his own - Air-slake and Air Lock were chasing down two others in Ward 5, while Cybershark and the chief pursued the remaining six that had fled towards Ward 3.<p>

He swerved, his tracker narrowly escaping from missiles fired from all three cutters. "That's an unfair jive, guys. But we can crank the bass if you want!" he frowned, lights of the cockpit flashing over his face as his visor crept down over his ice blue optics. "Well, ladies, time to see your dance moves," pulling hard on the drive stick forced his tracker to bank right, curving around and then up in a steep slope into the space above Omicron. The stars flickered around his ship as he summoned his commands to the computer. "Tell me something I don't know, Duchess."

His ship's computer beeped and whirred as it began compiling data from the three cutters. _|SYSTEM SCAN YIELDS FREQUENT COMMUNICATION FEEDS AND COORDINATION OF MOVEMENTS|_

"Oh, well then, they like to chatter. Thanks, Duchess," he flipped several switches, barked commands, and then flew in close once more behind the three cutters who were now huddled close in a triangle formation. The four ships swept the space above Omicron, closing in on the jump gate. "Let's flood the airways. Duchess, a little _Radar Love_, if you would?"

Silence, and then for a moment he could hear the three communicating back and forth as his computer connected to their frequency and overwhelmed the airways. "Bionc, take his left engine, Galix, take his-" silence once more, then Jazz³'s cockpit, as well as the three cutters' cockpits filled with the old Terran song that his grand-sire used to play for him.

_~"I've been drivin' all night my hands wet on the wheel / There's a voice in my head that drives my heel / It's my baby callin', says I need you here / And it's half past four and I'm shiftin' gear . . ."~_

Already his foot was tapping against the floorboard, hands working swiftly to target the central ship. It was wrong of the cutters to cluster together like that, it meant that for the center one to dodge, he would have to pull up or take a nose dive into Omicron. There was only one way to go, and Jazz³ would be ready for the thief.

_~"When she is lonely and the longing gets too much / She sends a cable comin' in from above. / We don't need no phone at all! / We've got a thing that's called Radar Love / We've got a wave in the air - Radar Love . . ."~_

Five missiles were launched from the tracker, accelerating with every meter they consumed, targeting locked on the center cutter until they split into three groups: two above, one in the center, and two below. No matter which direction the cutter in the center chose, he would be hit. "Come on, baby," Jazz³ begged, the missiles finally catching up to the three thieves. With last minute realization, the cutters attempted to split, but the middle one was still impacted with two missiles from where it had ascended upwards.

"Alright," the Maximal smiled. "Next one," he banked to the left this time, following close behind the cutter. His dactyls punched hard on the reload button, causing the clicking of rotating gears beneath the floorboards. Outside his tracker, the missile doors closed and then rolled open once more. "The radio is playing some forgotten song," he sang along, Duchess's targeting system training on to the thief.

_~"The radio is playing some forgotten song, / Brenda Lee's comin' on strong. / The road has got me hypnotized, / And I'm speedin' into a new sunrise . . ."~_

The tracker spun several times on its axis, launching off six heat seeking missiles, creating a circle pattern with their formation. Just like the others, they gained speed with each meter they crossed, homing closer and closer each second towards the cutter. Jazz³ flipped open the cover to his flight stick, waited what seemed like millions of seconds before pressing the red button, detonating the missiles millimeters from the hull of the cutter.

_~"When I get lonely and I'm sure I've had enough / She sends a comfort comin' in from above / We don't need no letter at all / We've got a thing that's called Radar Love / We've got a light in the sky . . ."~_

The engines of the cutter erupted violently, igniting a chain reaction that climbed through the other systems, neutralizing the ship until finally it exploded. Jazz³ wiped at his mouth for no reason other than suspense and adrenaline. "Last car to pass, here I go," he turned the tracker, banking back towards the last cutter. He was pleased to find that instead of it attempting to attack him, it was fleeing, aiming for the jump gate forty kilometers from Omicron's second Bay.

_~"No more speed, I'm almost there / Gotta keep cool now, gotta take care. / Last car to pass, here I go / And the line of cars drove down real slow . . ."~_

"Heh, you won't get away from me that easily . . ." he locked on target, gaining speed in his tracker and closing the distance between himself and the thief. "Oh, one more radar lover gone!" he tapped his foot to the beat, launching off the final barrage of missiles.

_~"And the radio played that forgotten song / Brenda Lee's comin' on strong / And the newsman sang his same song / Oh, one more radar lover gone!"~_

Jazz³'s optics widened in surprise, his visor flipping up into his helm as the cutter exploded mere seconds before the missiles were intended to connect. He growled as the missiles careened passed the implosion, seeing the bot in the distance with energon sword sparking in hand. "Duchess, open a comm.!" he yelled angrily. Several beeps were heard and then the connection opened. "Cybershark, just what do you think you're doing? I could have shot you!"

"Doesn't matter," the blue and grey bot retorted back over the communicator, holstering his blade inside his pauldron. "These three weren't important. We found the credit engine on one of the others."

Jazz³ growled once more. "I still could've shot you, though!"

"You didn't. Get over it and get inside, now. There's a solar wind gathering." With that said, Cybershark extended his six wings and shifted to his flight mode, blasting back to the docking bay. Jazz³ was left alone for a moment, shaking his head and turning his cutter back towards Omicron. He'd find a way to pay Cybershark back, and he knew just how to do it, too . . .

* * *

><p>When Jazz³ jumped out of his tracker Cybershark was waiting for him, smirk on his face. "You stupid sonova-!"<p>

"Stand down, Jazz, and remember who is your senior officer," Cybershark barked, predatory teeth shining in the light of the docking bay as the last shuttles arrived and departed for the day. Once the last shuttles cleared the bay, the doors would eventually seal shut until the wind had passed them by.

"I may be third in name and rank, but you have yet to show me why the boss put you his second!"

"Because Cybershark demonstrated his abilities long ago," the giant blue and purple bot stepped into view from the bridge over them. "He doesn't need to prove himself again." Leaping down from the bridge to the suspended platform, the larger bot joined the others. "Jazz, I see ya managed to kill the three you went after. Not even planning on bringing them back in?" the leviathan of a bot inquired, leaning forward on his massive arms against the railing, observing as the last ship powered slowly out of the bay.

Jazz³ didn't so much as salute as he sneered. "The Karnasian ambassador authorized us to execute them if they endangered Omicron in anyway. Besides, they were headed for the jump gate, and most likely would have detonated charges to keep us from pursuing."

"Maybe, but that still wasn't your call to make." The purple and blue chief of security smirked, his battle mask retracting from his face. "Nor was it yours, Cybershark. But I'm glad to see that you both managed to save the gate." He chuckled, rose to his full height, then stalked off over the platform with Jazz³ and Cybershark in tow. "Jazz, I need you to work on hacking the credit engine before the Karnasians get down to Headquarters to claim their own. I want to know just how much they stole from that vault."

"Of course, Depth Charge," Jazz³ nodded. "I just wish you would have contacted me out there."

"Tried, got a bunch of music in the comm." Depth Charge glanced over his shoulder, smirk on his face.

"Oh-erm, sorry . . ."

"Yeah, next time remember to jam only the enemy's communications, and not ours." The chief of security tapped the doorway open and waited for it to reach full width before the three of them walked into the tunnel between the Wards and Docks. Without wasting time they climbed into the security shuttle, taking seats so that they could return to Ward 1.

"Sorry again," Jazz³ bent his head down, looking at his feet as he took his seat. Now he was painfully reminded why he wasn't second in command.

"Don't take it so hard," Depth Charge reclined in the seat, arms stretched out over the back of his chair. He stared across to his second and third. "Just makes me wish we had someone to focus solely on communications, instead of having you pull double duty all the time."

"Perhaps," Cybershark started, head cocking against his shoulder, "if you petitioned the High Council once more, only this time include a statement from the Karnasian ambassador concerning the lack of radio scans that could have detected the coded transmissions."

"Maybe," Depth Charge thought, hand cupping his chin in thought. "We should have filled that position a long time ago with someone full-time."

Jazz³ lowered his head further, feeling shame for his inability to provide total system coverage of the airways for the past seven stellarcycles. "I'm sorry," he said again, optics blinking several times as he continued to stare at his feet.

"Stop apologizing and look him in the face," Cybershark ordered, body unmoving as the shuttle was closing in on Ward 1. "You act too much like a human."

Jazz³ gritted his teeth before facing Depth Charge, ignoring Cybershark as much as he could. "I think getting a permanent communications officer is a great idea. If you'll allow it then I'll get in contact with a good friend of mine."

"No, no," Depth Charge smiled then, getting up when the shuttle came to a halt. "Go on to Headquarters, I'm going to make a call and then catch up with you two. Tell the twins to keep a look out. And Cybershark," he turned from the doorway, looking back at his second. "You're in charge until I get back."

"Huh? Where are you going?" he said to the air as Depth Charge was gone. "Oh, why does he always have to be so ominous!"

* * *

><p>Depth Charge sauntered into his flat, shut the door behind him, and ran an automated scan for listening-devices. Satiated with the results, the chief of security pulled a container of energon from his storage shelf and unscrewed the lid. Drawing a tube from his side, the leviathan connected it to the lid and sat it upon his desk. Sitting down himself, Depth Charge initiated the desk computer and flew his fingers across the interface. "Now, to find us a communications officer."<p>

Sliding his dactyls across the interface screen, the leviathan dragged a tactile box to the center of the desk, tapped it to enlarge, then leaned back in his chair. Beeping in confirmation, the computer signaled that the connection had been established. _|ALL CONNECTIONS ENGAGED. ESTIMATED WAIT TIME IS: THIRTY-FOUR CYCLES|_

Had he been more relaxed, the chief of security might have over-tipped himself to the floor. As it was, the energon syphon had disconnected and spilt down the side of his leg, which gave him an idea. Someone had once told him to appear as imposing as possible when dealing with the Council, and that was his intent. Gathering as much of the pinkish fluid in his hands, he sat about smearing what remained across his chest and face. With any luck, it would dry before he was connected to the Council.

"This is the last time I take the normal channels," he sighed, resting his head in his hands with his elbows on the desk. After twenty-seven cycles and many disconnections, the chief of security was pleased that the line now connected to the central desks at Home. So much in fact that he almost felt like clapping his heals together. "Maybe if I ask nice enough I'll get a fruit basket for my wait," Depth Charge smirked, trying to remain in good humour.

_~"Who is this?"~_ a dark face filled the screen, one crimson optic unlit as the other flickered weakly.

"First of all," the leviathan sat back, smirk still on his face, "if the Tripredacus Council put a monitor on the desks over there who could actually _see_, then you would know who I am. Secondly, I'm tired of waiting, patch me over to the Tripredacus Council."

_~"You blasted Maximal!"~_ the monitor seethed, fangs snapping at the screen in revulsion. _~"The Tripredacus Council is in session - they do not cater to Maximal filth like you."~_

"Now, now, be a good secretary and put me in contact with the Tripredacus Council. Tell them that Depth Charge is calling and I do not want to be kept waiting." He waited patiently, not hearing so much as a scream from the Predacon on the opposite side of the universe as the screen went blank and filled with the connection line again.

Three tired blank, red faces filled the screen. _~"Maximal Depth Charge," the center one, General Cicadacon, sighed, "to what do we owe your filthy appearance?"~_

"Well," he beamed, leaning in closer so that his face took up the entire field of the camera. "I've been talking it over with my men and I've come to the conclusion that Omicron needs a permanent communications officer, as well as some additions to our security." He leaned back then, looking proud and arrogant, mimicking the Predacons he had come to deal with. "And you have what I want, so I think it would only gratify the pleasantries between our two peoples if you so humbly offered your services."

The three red Predacons rolled their optics, shooting one another exhausted looks. "Maximal Depth Charge, we grow tired of listening to you. Be candid and say what it is that you want."

"Of course," Depth Charge leaned back further, propping his feet up so that they blocked half of the screen. Behind the security of his legs, the leviathan fiddled with a device that was attached by cables to the side of his desk. When the indicator light atop the box shifted from red to green, the blue and purple bot announced, "The line's no longer bugged . . ."

"What is it that you want, Maximal? We grow tired of waiting."

"Just remember that I've covered up several of your messes, and will continue to do so if ya provide me with a communications officer, specifically one who has the background of a monitor." He sat up then, face calm and unreadable. "Also, I need a weapons officer."

General Cicadacon raised his brow, then furrowed it once more. "You have someone in mind."

"That I do," Depth Charge rose and drummed his fingers on the table. A smile creased his lips, "Designator code fifteen dash four dash thirty-six. I believe she is more than capable to fill the position. I'll be awaiting her arrival." With that, he cut the line.

* * *

><p>The Predacon haven, a colony just above the Cybertronian atmosphere, revolved in the opposite direction of the planet's rotational axis, leaving it a fixed point in their sky much like the sun. Home - so-called by the Predacons and remaining Decepticons - was a feat of engineering littered with flats, facilities, and scrap yards, most of which were fronts to hide what really transpired behind the curtains of the Pax Cybertronia.<p>

After the Great War ended and the Pax Cybertronia had been signed, the Decepticons in pursuit of traditions, fostered the _posterra_ brands that were originally to be phased out by the Maximals. However, the idea of legally owning one's property as a confederation loyal to the Tripredacus Council was so popular that the Predacons had threatened to overturn the treaty if they weren't allowed to continue the tradition.

It was a threat that the Maximals weren't willing to allow, and rather than the High Council and the Imperium striking with force, they gave in eight stellarcycles ago and seceded _posterra_ to the Home authority and the Tripredacus Council to govern. Now, close to all residents had applied for _posterra_ and been granted confederacy, which meant that the green markings that once could be used as guiding marks reflected the haphazard construction of the streets.

And that was how it was meant to be.

The third flat down on corridor 3-C looked as dismal as any, even in broad starlight. Its inhabitants inside, however, were much more twisted in their ways than their home suggested. The third flat was owned by Stricture the Decepticon sniper, and Taciturn the Decepticon pilot, both of whom downgraded to a Predacon form. Although they both had been retired from the business of commercial killing for sometime now, they did manipulate their time with the occasional kill out of boredom.

Currently stretched out on the metallic couch, the Decepticon Misery slept in stasis with her head hanging over the edge. The blue and silver Decepticon - Stricture - and a red and black Decepticon - Taciturn - slowly rose up behind the couch, glanced at each other once, then leaned towards their sleeping captain. Being the closer of the two, Stricture examined her sleeping face from only millimeters away. Resting the tip of his metallic nose against Misery's, the blue and silver Decepticon leered, "Not exactly a sleeping beauty, are you?"

Optics wide and aware, Misery stared back at her second in command, body shifting against the couch as she focused upon him. "_What_," she began, placing an icy dactyl against Stricture's bridge and threatening to carve into him, "do you want?"

"You've got a call," Stricture pointed to the black vid screen behind her, grinning from audio to audio. "The Tripredacus Council. One of their cronies, actually."

"You know what they want," she made it a statement, judging by their grins.

Stricture and Taciturn preened amongst themselves, and only after Stricture cupped a hand to his mate's shoulder did they disappear in a cloud of coloured smoke. Behind the lounge, the screen became white with static and then filled with an arrogant face. Misery turned then, arm laid across the back of the couch while one leg was bent under the other, her right hip joint pressed firmly against the couch. "Councilor Countenance," Misery cocked her helm to the side, "to what do I owe the honour of your . . . intrusion upon my sleep."

_~"Charming,"~_ he narrowed his chestnut coloured optics, scanning the area behind the female to delay while the scanners secured the line. Finally, he returned his glance to the center of the monitor. _~"The line is secure."~_

Misery spoke without moving her lips, not willing to risk recording devices of any kind. "My crew is continuing the integrity of this line. Speak, Councilor."

_~"Captain Misery, why is it you never climbed the ranks if you are so clever?"~_ the Councilor inquired, optics perking upwards around the outer edges.

"I was content to sequester my control to a limited number of troops." She slowly turned her helm until it came to rest against her left shoulder. "You did not contact me to inquire about my rank."

_~"Ah, well, your line of work does fit into this,"~_ the Councilor curled his lips into a fine line, seriousness written up his face.

Off to the side, far enough away not to be caught on the screen, Taciturn sat down a private communicator that he and Stricture had been listening to. The two of them ran over to where Misery was seated, flailing their arms behind the monitor to catch her attention.

Looking down quickly with just her optics, Misery glanced away from the screen to look at her two subordinates. She widened her red optics once and gave a small but barely noticeable jerk of her head to indicate for them to be silent and wait, then she turned back to the screen.

_~"Moreover, Captain Misery, it has come to our attention that a certain Maximal - whose bane of an existence hinders us very much - has demanded your services-"_~

Stricture disappeared briefly and reappeared next to Taciturn, giant poster boards under his arms and assorted coloured markers in his hands. Where he had gotten them, the red male didn't know, but he was impressed regardless. The second stepped under the vid screen, just out view like his wing mate, and handed him a poster board and a marker. They scribbled quickly, Taciturn finishing quickly and holding his up for Misery to read. She looked away from Councilor Countenance with her optics once more to gaze at what Taciturn had written to her.

She read it quickly, processing in her mind what it said. _We __**found**__Xyston!_ it read, sporting several swirl marks around it for emphasis.

_~"-And so you will-"~_

Misery flicked her red optics shut once and then opened them again, looking at what Stricture was now holding up in large, bold letters: **HE'S-**

_~"-report for work-"~_

**-ON-**

_~"-on-"~_

**-OMICRON!**

_~"-Omicron."~_

The two males blinked, glanced to one another, then shrugged, completely vexed by the sudden twist of fate.

Councilor Countenance growled, patience gone. _~"Captain Misery, are you listening to a word I am saying!"~_

She blinked, helm snapping back to look at him. "Report for work on Omicron, understood." Misery cut the signal, grabbed the nearest unbolted objects, and threw them towards the two males who had to duck to keep from being hit. "And that could not have waited another twenty seconds?"

"Sorry," Taciturn shrugged as Stricture chuckled, "but the look on your face was hilarious!"

Misery said, "I do not care how I looked. Explain yourselves _now_."

"Oh, that was our contact on Colony Omicron," Stricture flopped down on one side of Misery as Taciturn took the other side, both sliding their arms around her shoulders and gripping her tight. They leaned in close, smirks and whispers about them. "He said that they've traced the ship that took Xyston. I guess we'll be off to Omicron, then?"

"Councilor Countenance has ordered me to Colony Omicron to work there for the security. Mmm," she pouted her lips, leaning forward and placing her couters against her tassets, gripping her helm in her hands. "I am to be detained while you both do our work."

"Oh, don't fret, Misery," the two of them said, pulling her back to a straight position and then began swinging their upper bodies from side to side.

"Do not start!" Misery blinked in surprise, trying to get out of their grips.

"Matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match," Stricture and Taciturn began to sing, smiles upon their faces as they swayed more forcefully with Misery in their grip.

Misery covered her optics with her hands, sighing deeply as she whispered, "I keep company with morons . . ."

* * *

><p>"I need a five letter word for 'pottery made in this style,'" the red and white Maximal tilted his helm back and glared across the room to his twin. "Yo, Air-slake! You hear me?"<p>

The red and white Maximal turned around, dactyls tapping at a computer as he listened to his twin. "What'd you want?"

"I said 'five letter word for pottery made in this style.' You got the answer, Air-slake?" he asked again, setting his stylus down next to his data pad.

"'Delft,' Air Lock, 'delft.'" He turned back to his computer, typing faster this time as he continued his report. His twin went back to work, having already completed his task of the report. Well, Air Lock wrote it, and Air-slake checked it for errors; it was riddled with errors. Lots of errors. Within several minutes, however, he completed his task and turned to the sound of the doors opening.

Depth Charge strolled in with the look of the cat who ate the canary. "Well, boys, ya got a report done yet or what?"

"What, is the operative word, here. Actually, I think, Air Lock, that you meant to say 'opposed' instead of 'appeased.'" Air-slake struck the last error from the report and ejected the disk. He spun in his chair and offered it to Depth Charge as his twin began to speak.

"Yeah, well, you know me and words that sound the same . . ." Air Lock prinked with good nature.

"Sound the same?" Air-slake turned, blue optics wide and confused. "Opposed and appeased sound nothing alike!"

The other red and white jet crossed his legs at the ankle joints and stared innocently around the room. "They do if I say they do."

Depth Charge chuckled. Having spent seven stellarcycles with Air Lock and Air-slake taught him to appreciate intellectual humour; their focus was more on words themselves, unlike Jazz³ who cracked his jokes about peoples and objects. "Why are you in such a good mood?" Air-slake inquired, tilting his head.

"Yes, share with the rest of the class," Air Lock bent forward, crossing his legs and placing his elbow on his poleyn as his other arm laid limp across his leg. "You seem in such good moods at this moment that you have to share."

Depth Charge smiled and said, "Well, I've gotten us a permanent communications officer, as well as a weapons master on the way."

"I thought the High Council told you 'no,' but in a more hurtful way," Air Lock stood, trotting towards the other two as they began to move out the door and down the hallway.

"I asked elsewhere," the chief of security answered flatly, their heavy footsteps echoing off the walls as they made their way through the Omicron Security Headquarters. Depth Charge was bound and determined to see what information Jazz³ had gotten from the remaining Karnasian thieves.

"You didn't?" Air-slake blinked his blue optics, tilting his helm.

"Didn't call who? I would never dream of hiring a Decepticon."

"Decepti- Wha-what!" the twins stopped in their tracks. "Depth Charge, are you crazy? Don't you have any idea how dangerous they are?"

"Yeah, I know. And right now that's what we need. There's so much going on that we can barely keep up with the crime. We need to straighten Omicron out, and having someone on staff who can help us work the streets will be good." Depth Charge opened the door to the observation room and engaged the speakers upon entering. The three of them stood together on the opposite side of the two-way mirror, staring into the interrogation room where Jazz³ sat with several restrained Karnasians. "For now, let's focus on them."

"But, _Depth Charge!_ " the two whined, only to be silenced by his hand up.

The chief of security indicated to the Karnasians in custody, then typed in a sequence on the console. A display flickered to life upon the two-way mirror, offering him assorted options - one of which the volume controls.

"Suppose," Air-slake sighed. "Suppose the Karnasians weren't working alone."

"What? You mean like a conspiracy?" Air Lock smirked again, "you think everyone's out to get us?"

Air-slake gave his brother a solemn look, one that said weights without speaking. The two blinked at one another behind the leviathan's back, sharing an unspoken warning.

"Fine," his brother resigned, "if the Karnasian's weren't working on their own accord, what do you hypothesize?"

Depth Charge shook his helm, "Alright, both of you stop. We know facts of their species, but it can't be applied to all of them. Karnasians are business aficionados - they'll make deals that benefit them, not deals that'll put them behind bars." He side-stepped to the door and opened it for Jazz³, who had now finished with the interrogation. He waited until his third in command took a seat along the wall before asking, "Find anything pertinent?"

"They were hired by someone they never met, so they say, and they were sent to steal energon and green pyre from the vaults. They were caught when those tertiary alarms we installed inside the vault tripped."

"Do we know how they got past the first and second alarms?"

"Yeah, they back-fed the signal on itself and reflected the trip wires perfectly. I feel really guilty, though. I installed those alarms, they should have caught them before they ever got into the vault."

Depth Charge regarded his third momentarily, then said, "The system would have worked if we had a full time communications officer to monitor those alarms. Which is something I'm working on."

Air Lock eyed his brother, "Well, looks like you were right about your conspiracy theory."

Air-slake didn't answer, but instead Depth Charge interjected, "Jazz, did the Karnasian say anything else?"

"Well, they told me where I could stick a pistol but I had to inform them that I didn't have the anatomy for it," the Autobot descendent chuckled.

"Nice," Depth Charge looked around for a moment and then a thought occurred to him. "Where's Cybershark?"

"Oh, you put him in charge, remember? Where do you think he is?" Jazz³ chuckled.

"_-Get outta my chair!_ " Depth Charge yelled only after he had stomped through the building, followed closely by the other three, entered his office, and jerked his chair out from underneath Cybershark who promptly hit the floor.

Cybershark blinked from his very contorted, very humourous position on the floor. "You coulda just asked for me to get up . . ."

"Or he could have thrown you out the window," Air Lock mused.

While Cybershark glared accusingly, the screen behind them alit with static and a red pulse image, indicating a transmission. Depth Charge rapped his console and the image of violet female filled the screen, her single orb of an eye giving no emotion. _~"Security Chief Depth Charge, this is Shock Therapy, agent of the Tripredacus Council. Under orders of the Tripredacus Council and under the sanctity of the Pax Cybertronia, I have been assigned to assist Colony Omicron as your new communications officer."~_

Jazz³ stared at the screen, considering the female briefly, then realization punched him in the face, "You're a Decepticon."

"That's right," Depth Charge relaxed into his chair and propped his elbows on the table. "Shock Therapy is trained as a city monitor. Omicron will be a cinch for her."

_~"That is correct,"~_ Shock Therapy's singular orb darkened to goldenrod before she added, _~"I will be arriving within the next three megacycles. I would appreciate a liaison to greet me at your port of clearance."~_

"You'll have it," Depth Charge nodded. "We'll see you in three."

The image of the female blinked once, then the transmission ended. Cybershark tested, "Depth Charge-"

"Everyone save Cybershark get back to work." They obeyed him soundlessly, and as the last one out Air Lock pressed the switch as he left, sealing the door behind them.

The leviathan of a bot turned back to his second, "That's one down, one to go."

"Do you honestly think it wise to invite two Decepticons here around three Autobot-sired? You're asking for confrontations."

"Jazz and the twins can handle themselves. I'm confident they can get along. After all, there is a treaty."

"Depth Charge," Cybershark spun to face him, glaring the other down. "I have no doubts you've contacted that Decepticon of yours. What's her name. Misery?" He sat down opposite his chief, not bothering with the formalities any longer. "You know I will stand by your decision, but I am also troubled that you will spend more time watching _her_ then you will Omicron."

The blue and purple Maximal blinked once, furrowed his brow, and darkened his crimson optics. "Are you insinuating that I can't do my job?"

"I was there," Cybershark reminded. "She staged her capture at our training facility and you made giddy faces at her the entire time. She's not good for us. She's-"

"Completely capable of doing the job. If you want to go on official record against me, I'll understand," Depth Charge took a deep breath, reseated himself to a more erect position, and issued a low growl. "_If_ there's nothing else, then get out."

Cybershark got out.

* * *

><p>She was bored, restless, and decided two minutes into the agonizingly slow trip that she wanted to perform some mindless killing. Currently, Misery rapped her fingers across the arm of the chair, drumming with a steady hum that created enough noise that those who were sitting in the other aisles had become annoyed and moved. She added the tapping of her foot along with her dactyls, trying to create as much noise as possible to drone out the thoughts in her head. Later, one of them attempted to tell her to stop, which only resulted in receiving the a glare that threatened death if not left alone.<p>

The shuttle was slow, but the jump gate at least made the travel in one third the time it would take to reach from Cybertron to Omicron. Normally, the trip would take four days by shuttle and only two by tracker standards. Either way, Misery loathed the travel through commercial means. Give her the _**Cenotaph**_ any day and she would be happy.

Of course, the _**Cenotaph**_ was currently in the use of Stricture and Taciturn, who had gone ahead to Omicron. Their plan was simple: while she worked for the Guardians, Stricture and Taciturn would be searching the depths of the colony for Xyston.

Misery sighed once more; if only she still had her original crew, the work would be that much easier to complete.

She tilted her helm, looking at the bot standing in the aisle next to her seat. Apparently another had been elected to persuade her to stop annoying the others. "I said you're getting on my last nerve. _Stop._ " He did not continue when he received a look from her.

She purred casually, "Who are you?"

He seemed slightly taken aback by the question but gave her his name despite it, "Skywarp."

Misery cocked her head and lost the expression she had been giving him. "You take the name of a Decepticon martyr yet you bare the Predacon mark. No, what was your name before you changed it?"

He growled at this, sitting down across from her and leaning in close so no one could hear, "Rhyton. Though I don't see why I should cooperate with you, Decepticon wannabe."

Misery said bluntly, "You believe yourself entitled to use the name of our once-proud Seeker. You are a fool to think that. We Decepticons have no use for imbeciles like you."

"I'm tempted to kill you for speaking to me like that," he snarled.

"You are welcome to try. Many before you have, but none have succeeded," she drew her handgun from her side and pointed it at him from underneath the leg, obscuring it from his view. He only had time to hear the distant click and the whirr in his leg before he fell forward and into unconsciousness.


	2. Candles

_Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission_

_**Disclaimer:**__ No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified._

_**Dedications:**__ Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favorites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better._

_**Author's notes:**__ Chapter two underway. Sorry this came out later than I had promised. I went back to edit it for upload and realized just how horrible it was. I HAD to redo it from scratch._

* * *

><p><strong>Epoch:<strong>

**Candles**

**Joshin Yasha** (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

* * *

><p>The tall green and violet robot kicked aside a fresh pile of rubble that had coalesced under his work area. Now that he'd finished mining this section of green pyre, he braced himself against the rock wall fo the asteroid and slid to the ground. Reclining, the tall mech crossed his legs and retrieved the nearest oil canister that he had brought with him.<p>

"Ahh, nothing like a can of oil to hit the spot," as he relaxed, he withdrew a tin filled with energon sticks, broke one in half, and began chewing on the pieces.

"That is incredibly pathetic," Stricture chuckled, leaning himself against the far wall. "I wouldn't have expected to find someone like you wasting your talents in some mine."

"Eh?" the green and violet mech turned to the other, raised an eye arch, and glanced from side to side. "Ewgh, you're not supposed to be down here. Not unless you're a miner."

"I know who you are, Decepticon," Stricture accused.

The mech waved his hands in effort to dissuade the other, shushing him to prevent others from hearing.

Stricture raised his own eye arch, then narrowed his optics. "You are Scrapper, one of the great builders! Why have you consigned yourself to a lowly mining position? You should be designing constructs of great testament to our cause."

"Look pal, it wasn't by choice. But you gotta keep your voice down," he pleaded, climbing to his feet and ushering the silver and gold Decepticon down a shallow passage. "Ya gotta go, okay? I can't be seen with other 'cons. My life depends upon it."

"Stop this," Stricture swatted the other's hands away, composed himself, then shook his helm in fury. "You are a Decepticon loyal to Megatron. You are the greatest engineer in the whole army. This place is not for you!"

"Just keep your voice down!" Scrapper shushed the other again, only this time instead of pressing a finger to his lips, he indicated to a metal strap bolted to his chest. "I can't transform, I can't even run without the Maximals tracking me down. This thing is designed to blow if I try to remove it - it'd take me and the next five-hundred meters with it."

Stricture blinked at Scrapper, went to press his hand over the device, yet withdrew it and blinked again. "Scrapper-"

"They don't know who I am. You gotta go before the ganger sees you," Scrapper pleaded. "I don't want to get another offense on my record."

"Very well, then," Stricture turned away, plodded a few paces, then threw a glance over his pauldron. "Should you wish to hear what I have to say, I will be in Ward Five, near the entrance to Round Deep. Tonight at the turn of the guards."

"I . . ." Scrapper had looked away only for a moment, but when he looked back to the passage, the Decepticon flyer was gone. "Eh, I don't need trouble. I don't need this . . ." Returning to his work area and downing the last of the oil, the green and violet Decepticon could have sworn he saw someone at the end of the tunnel watching him.

* * *

><p>Depth Charge was awoken by the sudden chime at his apartment door. "Who is it?" he yipped, tripping over empty canisters of energon and oil.<p>

"It's Jazz," the other announced from behind the door. "You said you wanted a wake up call before the Patriarch got back." He entered only after Depth Charge had opened the door and took a seat by the monitors arranged one next to the other. "So . . . since we're not at the base, is it okay for me to talk about the shuttle in the room?"

"I suppose," the blue and purple Maximal sighed, shoveling armaments and assorted tech into his subspace.

"Well, about the extra help you've called for. 'Lock and 'Slake and I were talking it over last night, and- well . . ." he composed himself, obscured the twitch at the corner of his optic with a subtle grin. "We heard they're femmes."

The chief of security rose to his full height, looked a question at the other, and said, "Don't go any further. You'll have to judge that on your own when they get here."

"About that," Jazz³ grinned and let the humour reach his optics. "The new monitor's already here. Cybershark went to meet her."

Depth Charge paused, cracked his neck in the direction of his third, and offered wide optics. Though they were not filled with surprise, his optics betrayed his disquietude. "How long ago did she arrive?"

Jazz³ grinned, "Long enough for Cy' to try his newly learned charisma on her."

". . . how did that turn out?"

"Plus-one for effort but negative-twelve on delivery. He'll be working the dents out for weeks."

"What time is it?" Depth Charge asked, purely for the sake of conversation.

"Five past thirty. Patriarch should be here in a megacycle. You going to meet him?" Jazz³ inquired, the smirk never once leaving his face.

"Like I have a choice. The damn bastard's got a stick so far up his aft there's no telling where it ends and his forehead begins." Incited, the security chief shoved the last of his artillery into his subspace and sealed it. He adjusted his gun blade along his hip and plucked a few empty oil containers from the floor and organized them haphazardly in the receptacle. Forcing an equally empty smile haphazardly to his face, Depth Charge ordered, "You should go help Cybershark before 'Therapy kills him."

"You'll be okay meeting the Patriarch alone? Sure you don't want me to send for 'Slake and 'Lock?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It's just some sparkling-sitting for a pampered bastard. What could possibly go wrong?"

* * *

><p>The wealth of the colony was measured in resources, both astronomically and economically. The mines of green pyre, one of the heaviest metals known to Cybertronian kind, had sustained Omicron's economy and drawn thousands of miners from across the galaxy. Unfortunately, the influx of workers had created a social structure between those built for sub-zero temperatures and extraneous mining, and those built for more delicate, prestigious work.<p>

Essentially, it was the difference between a low-level miner and the Patriarch.

Since Omicron was the furthest, fully self-sustained colony from Cybertron, it was one of the first checkpoints travels crossed going in and out of the territory. Even though it was three weeks travel by jump gate, a decent ship with faster than light capabilities could make the jump in less than two days. For someone like the Patriarch who had the resources, the trip was managed in a few hours.

In Depth Charge's opinion, it was too many hours too soon.

He watched from the flight tower as the shuttle toting the palatial barge into the dock. From his position against the wall, he peered through the protective plating that separated him from the depths of space. Not that it would matter - he was fully capable of surviving deep space travel.

What he couldn't survive was more than five nanoclicks in the presence of the Patriarch.

Running a hand across his face, Depth Charge soldiered his pride and prepared for the inevitable.

Making his way down to the harbour, the chief of security fumbled anxiously at his gun blade. The gesture went without regard by the sentries gliding along on patrol and the various dock workers shouldering their burdens of cargo and freight. While the sentries belonged to him in service, Depth Charge paid them no mind either; they were mindless drones, devoid of spark, and functioned only in a periphery sense. He liked them, for all they were worth, because they never got in his way and did their duty without flaw.

It was the Patriarch he didn't like. Especially with that face of callousness staring down from the platform of the barge. "You are late," the Patriarch denigrated.

Gritting, Depth Charge replied, "Your personal transport is waiting to take you to your quarters."

The Patriarch stooped under the trestle that crossed his path, paraded down the gangplank with attendants and pages following, and then came to a halt before the security chief. "Where is the rest of your guard? I was to have an armed escort."

Rather than contest that his guardians had other duties more important than a pyre patriarch, Depth Charge answered matter-of-factly, "I'll be escorting ya personally to your quarters."

"I am less than thrilled," the Patriarch chided. Directing a hand to one of his pages, the Patriarch indicated to his luggage. The page sprung into action, dividing the load between himself and the other servants. To Depth Charge, he quipped, "I do not think you take my safety seriously, guardian. Perhaps you would be better suited for another colony like Digamma or Upsilon. I hear Upsilon's last security chief took a walk out the airlock into the nearest star."

Ever inclined to ignore the Patriarch's condescending remarks, the blue and purple Maximal suggested, "If your security were not taken seriously, Patriarch, I wouldn't be here."

The Patriarch narrowed his optics in skepticism, pivoted off the gangplank, and began to stroll towards his transport. He made it to the door, held patiently by one of his attendants, who abased himself out of his master's way. Before he could climb into the vehicle, the Patriarch hesitated with one hand upon the seat.

Seemingly distracted by something unseen, the Patriarch cautiously backed away from the transport. His posture left much to be desired, for Depth Charge could not see around the other and into the vehicle. His instincts tingled, alert with the other's lack of vocabulary.

Primus and Murphy had horrible senses of humour.

Drawing his gun blade from his side, Depth Charge sighted down the barrel at the Patriarch's chest, just level with the middle of the vehicle's door frame, and ordered, "Move."

"I wouldn't do that, friend," someone suggested behind him. Depth Charge didn't have to look to know a gun had already been trained on the back of his head. "We're not after you, we just want that bastard."

"Do something!" ventured the Patriarch as he was subdued by his captors.

The chief of security didn't try to risk a glance. They were right - if they wanted him dead, he'd be so already. Instead, he said, "I'm chief of security for Colony Omicron. You're making a mistake if ya think I'll let you walk out of here with the Patriarch."

"He made the mistake when he decided to deny the rights of the miners here. Over and over they've petitioned for better working conditions, and that slag-sucking-saurian keeps lining his shuttles with the credits he's refusing to put towards new equipment."

"You can't be serious," Depth Charge muttered. "Who are you, some intergalactic solidarity union for labourers?"

"Just some humble proletariats working to overthrow the bourgeoisie bastards who run us into the ground," the speaker corrected.

"So, what? Ya've read some Terran manifesto and think it applies to you?" Depth Charge tucked, spun, and used the flat of his palm to knock the speaker's gun into the air before the shot could ring out and into the Patriarch. Continuing his motion, the security chief gripped the smaller bot by the throat, got behind him, and put the edge of his gun blade along the other's chest. The vibration of his blade pulsed through the other's chest and down towards the speaker's spark chamber. "Let the Patriarch go and I'll let you live.

There was the simultaneous redirection of weapons by the crowd of assailants who had hoodwinked the pages and attendants. The focus was now upon the leviathan and the speaker, weapons targeting the leviathan as best they could - those who were behind him were left with only the option of aiming at his wings, which were shielding the most vital points of his body.

"I'd stand down if I were you," Depth Charge warned, cutting the edge of his blade into the other. It was a light scrape, but the resonating pulse of the blade warned it could easily go deeper. To the air, he asked, "Jazz, did you get all that?"

_~"Copy that. We're two minutes away."~_

"You've got a choice, Marx. You can order your crew to stand down, or I can order mine to tear ya to pieces. What's it going to be?"

The speaker grunted, lobbed his helm from side to side, and took in the sight of his crew. They had this bot outnumbered, his guardians were minutes away, and yet he presumed to order them. "You're crazy if you think we're giving up. We got the Patriarch. You kill me, and my crew takes off with him anyway. You let me walk away from this, and I'll keep my men from shooting you."

The leviathan leered at the moisture that had blotted along the side of the speaker's helm. "You're nervous," he said. "You don't want to die, and you aren't killers. You know I have the advantage here."

"If you want to believe that," the speaker paused. Perhaps he was embellishing his role in this situation, but he was beginning to feel the weight of his uncertainty crawling along his neck and helm. "The Patriarch is ours," he forced, "and he's going to pay for his crimes."

"I'm giving you one last warning," Depth Charge glowered at the bot holding the Patriarch prisoner. Lazily, Depth Charge drew an unnecessary breath and exhaled the condensing vapour from his body. The wisps of air fluttered against the speaker's helm, crusted into a fine coating of glittering ice, and chipped away with the shaking of his helm. "Let him go, or my crew tears you apart."

"Go suck on a bomb, you-" started the bot holding the Patriarch, only he paused. His face slackened and gave way to deathly fear. There was the grating squeal of metal being drawn over itself, and then the pounding of the Patriarch's feet against the tarmac as he was free to run for his life. Sans explosion, the bot who had held the Patriarch captive looked like someone had scored his gauntlets and forearms and forced them open like metallic banana peels. The under frame that composed the pistons and mechanics of his hands wound piece over piece in curlicues.

During his mad dash across the hanger, one of the captors had thought to requisition their hold on the Patriarch. They fought to contain him while the bot who had once held him wailed in pain and fury.

"I told you," Depth Charge reprimanded. "Last chance before you're all torn apart."

"How the Pit did you do that?" the speaker fidgeted in his grip, but controlled the urge to lash out. The vituperative reminder from the security chief's blade was enough for him to reconsider struggling. "_How?_"

"Call 'em off, Marx. Ya still got a choice."

"Go to the Pit!"

"Misery," Depth Charge's voice rose, carrying over the crescendo of weapons chambering their rounds, "I want them functional!"

The Patriarch stumbled forward, and the bot who had held him collapsed under the weight of the larger transformer. Misery's thrusters engaged and welded the bot's arms to the ground. For a moment, all optics shifted to her, which provided Depth Charge with an opportunity.

He carved into the speaker's body, bisecting the other's left arm just above the elbow joint. Tipping him over, the security chief caprioled to land next to the Decepticon female. Leveling his weapon at the surrounding bots, Depth Charge resettled his wings with a flap to conceal the cowering Patriarch. "So, Miz. Why is it that every time you and I get together, we end up in a fight?"

Unwavering, Misery declared impassively, "Foreplay."

Risking a glance, the leviathan plastered a knowing smirk across his face and leered at the female. "Oh. Hell. Yes." To the revolutionary who had taken advantage of Depth Charge's distraction, he promptly cracked the bot's face with a punch. "Remember, Miz," he holstered his gun blade, took a fighting stance, and continued, "you can't kill them!"

"You are particular," she holstered her handguns, spread her hands out, and widened her ice blue dactyls. Lowering her gauntlets towards the ground, Misery clenched her fists and raised them above her helm. In one fluid motion, the grating rumbled, crumpled upward, and enclosed the feet of two of the attackers. Falling into a dead run, Misery flipped into the air and leapt over the captive pages, then grabbed hold of the two bots. The green orbs of her shoulders grew in intensity and ice spread from her grip along their arms.

Once their frames became fragile and brittle, she crushed them in her pincer grip, ripped them from the rest of their bodies, and left them trapped within the grating. At the same time, Depth Charge shouldered his way past two more bots, dodging their weapons and shoving their faces into the ground. Disarming them to the lesser extent than Misery had done, the security chief broke their weapons under his feet and moved on to the others.

Gripping at the site of his amputated arm, the speaker weighed his options, understood his new disadvantage, and turned tail. As Depth Charge brought the last of the speaker's followers to the ground, he caught sight of the fleeing bot and yelled to Misery as he threw stasis-cuffs on the assailant, "Misery! Stop him!"

Transforming to jet mode, the blue and black Decepticon bypassed the speaker, transformed again, and landed in front of the speaker with her weapon drawn. She trained her hand gun upon the other's knee joint and opened fire. The blast buckled the Maximal and dropped him to the ground. She said, "You are finished."

"Misery, holster your weapon," he commanded, approaching her with the Patriarch in tow. Even though the Patriarch was yelling obscenities at the leviathan, he did take the time to share a long gaze with the Decepticon female.

Understanding passed between them, and Misery fastened the gun to her hip where it folded into the confines of her subspace. "Depth Charge," she nodded.

"Misery," he acknowledged. Behind him, the Patriarch ranted into his audio, criticizing everything from his role as a security guard to the size of his transformation cogs. Despite having crimson optics only for one another, they both had given over their audios to the Patriarch's inane gibberish.

"-and this goes to show your absolute disregard for my well-being!" screamed the Patriarch.

At last they turned to face him, finding the Patriarch on the verge of overwhelming rage. It was Misery who commanded coldly, "_You will be silent._"

"You dare to speak to me like that," glowered the Patriarch.

"You are alive, unfortunately," Misery took several steps up to the Patriarch, reached out with her left gauntlet, and proceeded to shove him back several paces. "You hold no authority here. You hold no rank. Depth Charge rules this colony and you are nothing but a merchant."

She lowered her face close to his, scarlet optics narrowing as the orbs upon her shoulder's dimmed. "You will do as commanded, or the goal of these revolutionaries will be unmitigated."

"You would see me destroyed by miners? Labourers?" the Patriarch cowered, lifting his arms to shield himself from potential harm.

Slowly, sadistically, Misery warped her grimace into a manicured smile filled with vehemence. "You underestimate the strength of that lies within a miner's melancholy." Then, she brushed past him to go and stand among the captured villains.

The Patriarch flashed a venomous scowl at the leviathan, but before he had the chance to say anything further, Depth Charge met him head on. "I've put up with your shit long enough. I've got no servitude to you, so don't expect me to arrange for any more security details for you." He raised a silver finger and stuck it in the other's face to keep him from interrupting. "Shape up your act, bastard. Otherwise you'll have another rebellious group after your head."

Passing him by, Depth Charge left the Patriarch speechless in what must have been the first incident of anyone disagreeing with him. Jogging to close the distance between himself and Misery, Depth Charge joined her at the same moment that Jazz³ landed with Air-slake and Air Lock in tow.

"Yo, bossbot," Air Lock chuckled, peered at the subdued assailants, and continued, "looks like you didn't need our help after all." To Misery, he said, "Hello. Who might you be?"

Depth Charge spoke for her when Misery offered the Maximal only a passing glance. "This is Misery. She's our officer on loan from the Tripredacus Council."

Air Lock paused, swallowed carefully, and shared a side-long exchange with his twin. "It's a," Air-slake hesitated, chose his words carefully, then grimaced, "pleasure to meet you."

The Decepticon female paid them no mind, favouring an aside to Depth Charge to account for his unasked question. "I arrived twenty cycles before you transmitted on the open security channel."

"You're not officially on duty, yet," Depth Charge offered. "Ya didn't have to pitch in if ya didn't want to."

"It is a plausible choice. One I may choose to implement in the future." She flicked her tongue across her upper lip, erected herself to full height, and rapped her dactyls upon her collar. "Yet, you are the chief of security for Omicron. My services are to you as requested by the Tripredacus Council."

Briefly, the blue and purple Maximal considered saying more, but decided not to pry further into her motives. "Well, Misery, if there's no further interruptions, perhaps you should be seen to your flat."

"Perhaps," she casually nodded.

"I feel like we're missing something here," Jazz³ whispered to Air-slake, who only grunted in response.

"Yeah," Air-slake sighed. "Like we're missing some cosmic, pre-ordained story."

Jazz³ furrowed his brow in confusion as Air Lock elbowed his twin in the side. The twin waved his hand adamantly in protest, "I think what my brother means to say is that there's a story here. Something we've not been privileged to."

The third-generation sired returned his attention to the Decepticon female. The corner of his mouth quirked with too many presumptions and not enough facts. He gestured to the bots who now lacked hands with which to fight. "Misery, yeah? I guess all this is your doing?"

Offering an upturned palm, she mused with deadpan accuracy, "I disarmed them."

No one laughed.

* * *

><p>"You are preoccupied," Misery observed. Their tour had lead them to one of the residential districts of Ward 1, which was structurally seated upon the dome to Ward 2. Only the dim lighting of the hallway illuminated their bodies, but the tense posture of the Maximal was evident.<p>

"Just wondering about the blowback that's gonna result from us pissing off the Patriarch," Depth Charge said distractedly.

"The resulting ramifications number in the thousands. You would do well to preempt the Patriarch."

"What would you suggest?" Depth Charge asked, tilting his helm upon his pauldron before coming to a halt outside a set of double doors. Depth Charge withdrew a data crystal from his side and offered it to the console. He indicated to the screen, "You can reset the passcode, by the way. The temp' is seven-seven-nine-two."

The black and blue Decepticon typed the code into the touch pad, paused long enough to eye the larger Maximal skeptically, then typed _1-9-8-4_ into the panel. Withdrawing the data crystal from the console, Misery pocketed it into subspace before enjoining, "You could always beg for his forgiveness."

Sashaying up the stairs into the flat, Misery halted at the top and winked coyly. As she Disappeared around the corner, Depth Charge ascended the stairs with fervor and joined the Decepticon female in the common area. Having seen the schematics, the Maximal knew to expect the view overlooking the crest of the asteroid the colonists mined from, as well as the evening star descending below the horizon. He also knew to expect the floor-length windows that turned their gaze upon the interior of Omicron.

But for someone unaccustomed to the angle, the view warranted an instinctual survival grip. The artificial gravity that composed the residential area embedded into the walls of Ward 1 was designed to provide wealthy colonists with a bird's eye view that left the onlooker perpendicular to the center of the colony.

"I have swept the flat for listening devices," she said upon approach, placing a hand upon the forearm that Depth Charge had leveraged against potentially falling through the reinforced glass and into the streets of the city. "I detect none."

"Good to know," Depth Charge swallowed with considerable effort, righted himself in relation to the room, and turned his back to the windows to stop himself from flinching for the nearest bolted object. Finally, he said, "It's good to see you, Misery."

"Your sentiment is noted and dully ignored," she responded, tentatively tracing her fingertips along the modernistic lounge chair. "This flat is exotic for my tastes. I prefer simplistic quarters."

"If ya don't like it, I can find ya something else." Depth Charge rolled his pauldrons in an aloof version of a shrug, completely noncommittal and nonchalant. To the wall, he said, "I bought this place a long time ago to use as a safe house. Never had to use it, but I thought you'd prefer it since it's off the grid."

Misery eyed him, trying to discern a subtext existed beneath the Maximal's words, and retorted, "It will suffice."

Turning to face her, Depth Charge offered an empty expression that leaked lust from his optics. "Miz, about earlier. I was thinking-"

Cutting the security chief off before he could sully the moment with romantic notions, the blue and black Decepticon postulated, "You are concerned that I would not undertake a residency at the behest of the Tripredacus Council unless I had knowledge of Xyston's whereabouts."

There was a moment of discomfort from the other as he fought to conceal his emotions. Depth Charge chose his words with considerable effort. "Well, the thought had crossed my mind."

Misery gave him an awkward glance, revoked the chemicals within her pauldrons so that they dulled to a muted green, and then paced around the lounge. Now that she stood in front of it, Misery resigned herself to the lounge and planted her feet firmly upon the floor on either side of the recliner. "I will be frank, Depth Charge. Xyston is here," her admission induced an uncontrived gulp from the other. "He is within the wards of Omicron, and I intend to liberate him from his captors."

"Are ya sure that's a good idea?" he queried. "He tried to kill ya last time."

"Put yourself in his place," she tilted her helm to the left, optics narrowing to slits of blood dotted with evening suns. "Xyston was captured, abused, and experimented upon. Those unbroken by torture often reciprocate revenge ten fold upon their abductors."

"What he did to Ultimatum wasn't revenge," Depth Charge sighed, folding his arms over his expansive chest.

Raising an eye arch in curiosity, Misery goaded, "You defend the Autobot who sought to murder you?" There was a twitch at the corner of her mouth, then she smirked from audio to audio. Although Depth Charge did not know it at the time, Misery's second in command had teleported into the room quietly and was currently giving his captain two thumbs up. "To argue that point further would bring us to an impasse. Memory serves that we were both attacked by our allies."

The Maximal turned away at the same moment that Stricture chose to teleport to the other side of him, leaving the space undisturbed and keeping to the periphery so as not to be seen. Pantomiming with his hands, the blue and silver Decepticon mimicked a meeting between two acquaintances, feigned hesitation of the left hand, coercion with his right hand, juggled empty air with both hands in decision, and "shook hands" with his left thumb and right pinky.

"What will ya do once you find him?" Depth Charge asked juxtaposed unknowingly to Stricture's movements. "I can't condone either of you killing anyone on this colony."

"Why, Depth Charge, however could you?" Misery suppressed a laugh. No reason to aggravate the leviathan. At least, not yet. "As I am a liaison to Colony Omicron on behalf of the Tripredacus Council, I cannot disobey an order from the chief of security."

Silence devoured the flat, and when Stricture realized Depth Charge hadn't immediately jumped at the chance to give his captain a direct order, he wagged his finger in Misery's direction and grinned as if to say 'Tricky, tricky, that was a good play!'.

Torn between his Maximal upbringing and the teachings Misery had bestowed upon him seven stellarcycles ago, Depth Charge was at a loss for words. Life was the right of all sentient beings, but Misery had taught him to question the decisions of others, regardless of faction. The overwhelming evidence at the research facility that day they simultaneously found and lost Xyston pointed undoubtedly to Maximal involvement. He'd seen it. He'd _identified_ it.

"Perhaps it is a decision not yet to be made," Misery offered, nearly cracking her neck with whiplash. Her posture had tensed for a fraction of a nanoclick when Stricture had teleported yet again to avoid being caught by Depth Charge. Stricture waved emphatically to the female Decepticon, and then, just to press his luck, he made several lewd gestures that insinuated gratuitous acts between Misery and Depth Charge.

Had they been alone, the Decepticon female would have thrown the first object she could get her gauntlets around. However, since the Maximal was in the room and currently being eluded by the silver and blue male, she filed it away as something to be punished later.

* * *

><p>Scrapper berated himself. Not only did he wander into Ward Five by evading the normal checkpoint, but he had trampled too close to the entrance of Round Deep that he had been noticed and approached by the security droids. There would be no hiding for him - his size and caution strips designated out of place for the amphitheater.<p>

Before the droids had a chance to accost him with limitless inquiries, the Constructicon felt hands wrap around his arm and draw him close. "You'll have to excuse my date," Stricture pleaded, waiving a hand to deter the security drone and putting on his best smile. "I told him we were going to the opera tonight with all the fancy folk and here he decides to make his political statements. I swear, I can't do anything with him sometimes."

Stricture patted the back of Scrapper's gauntlet, and much to the other's distraught reaction, he laced his fingers with the taller Decepticon and gave him longing optics. To the security droid that narrowed its optic strip, Stricture presented the transparent film invitation. "I'm Vessel, and this is my plus-one."

Inspecting the seal upon the bottom of the invitation, the security droid returned the document and hovered back to its place by the door. "That was . . . unexpected," Scrapper grimaced. "But, the opera?"

"The Round Deep is the stepping stone to your freedom. We'll be meeting some very important people in here who cannot know who you are."

"Deception I can do," replied the green and violet male, and though he still felt like he should turn tail and run, he was lead by the hand through the door and into the nearest lavatory.

"First of all, let's see about some cloaking," Stricture locked the door behind them, walked three stalls down, and rapped on the door. "Tass, you were right. He did come unprepared."

From his perch against the wall, Scrapper saw the door swing open. The red and black Decepticon male climbed out toting a case over his back. "The engineer," Taciturn grinned, and though he paid no compliment, he hoisted the container onto the table. Withdrawing the minute, hexagonal device, Taciturn rolled it over in his palm and proffered it to the taller Decepticon. "Based upon your designs. This device will subdue the markers while also creating a perception filter over your tag."

Scrapper pinched the device between his thumb and forefinger, examining it with professional intensity. "You modified the design for cosmetic purposes," he observed, rolling it over to his other hand. "I didn't think a perception filter could be made on a small scale."

"I had much to go with," Taciturn indicated to a flashing light on the device, "since your schematics were thorough enough that I could modify them with ease."

He was no longer the quivering miner hiding from attention. Instead, Scrapper had regressed to his emphatic nature - at least temporarily forgetting his compulsion to play the role of an obedient citizen. "You've tested it, then?"

"Many times," the wing mates jointly answered.

"We have two cycles before the introduction to _Hrrr Jursjjk_ begins," Stricture withdrew a second unit, clipped it to the inside of his forearm, and engaged it.

As a result, Scrapper found it difficult to focus upon the silver and blue Decepticon. Each time he tried to make eye contact, he had the inclination to avert his gaze. Blinking the sudden blurriness from his optics, Scrapper pinched at his brow. "How'm I supposed to find you if can't keep an eye on you."

"These are calibrated on the same frequency," Taciturn fixed one of the small machines to Scrapper's chest, just on the other side of the marker, and adjusted it much like a concerned parent would primp and groom their son's tie before his first date. "Once activated, you'll be immune to the filter's effects. You and Stricture will go unnoticed by the crowd but be able to communicate with one another throughout the night."

Twelve energon mixers, two intermissions, one elaborate explanation, and 140 minutes later, and Stricture and Scrapper had found their way backstage to mingle with performers. After many warranted compliments, Stricture had charmed their way into the after show dinner with the director, a few mezzo-sopranos, and a large group of patrons.

"I was overwhelmed by the development of the weapon smith," one of the patrons admitted to his company. Cupping a hand to his mouth, the patron leaned closer to his ambiguous guest and whispered, "The whole leitmotif. It's been done before, but I thought his transformation from a meister to a beggar was phenomenal. So many trials and tribulations that left him scarred and disfigured, and yet he still refused to recount himself to the mercy of the viceroy."

"It is a compelling tale," Stricture admonished, "but I could spin you a greater tale of an unyielding god, unseated and cast out upon mortals."

"It seems trite," the patron clenched his optics shut when he tried to face the blue and silver Decepticon directly. He pinched at his brow, rubbing the weariness from his eyes. "By Primus, I must be getting old. I can't seem to hold my energon like I used to."

Grinning pleasantly, Stricture caught the attention of Scrapper, who had wandered across the diner to fetch more energon hors d'oeuvres, and waved him over to their table. "My dear Curate, have I introduced you to my comrade Fencer?"

Squinting, Curate turned unfocused optics upon the other Decepticon. "Fencer, eh? Seems like a violent name for such a pleasant fellow."

A tingle ran through him, and Scrapper was unexpectedly aware of Stricture's hand on his upper back. He looked to the side, raised an eye arch at him, and crimped his face in vexation. He wanted to ask, _Did the perception filter falter?_; instead, he said, "It's for my precision. I have an exactitude with my art that cannot be contested."

Curate shook his helm, rubbed again at his optics, and peered indirectly at the two. He more or less found himself examining a painting on the far wall. He said to the air, "What is your medium?"

Scrapper looked to Stricture, awaiting judgment or some kind of warning, but received a face ushering him on. "Bodies."

"Oh, you're one of those movement artists? Using the living form to contrive representations of emotion and symbolic form?"

"Not quite," Scrapper corrected, drumming his fingers upon the table. "I find a subject, restrain them, and wire them piece by piece into a structure of my design."

Before Curate could maul over this explanation, Stricture interjected, "Dear Curate, I heard you were not only a patron of the arts, but also the advancement of Cybertronian research."

"Yes, that is correct. I find that since the Great Upgrade, our race has become complacent with our new bodies. I worry that we may become static instead of moving forward with the technological advancement of our kind."

"Fascinating," Stricture mused, "does that include experimenting upon live subjects?"

"W-what do you mean?" Curate found himself fighting to sit up and look at the two, but each attempt left him slumping and focusing upon the dish of half-consumed energon delights.

"Do not play the recalcitrant patsy and take umbrage. You are a founding member of the Sanctuary Corporation, a shell company operating on behalf of TRUNDLE." Stricture leaned forward and put a hand on the Maximal's shoulder, lowered himself into his periphery, and whispered, "I want him back. You took him from us, and we want him back."

When Curate declined to be forthcoming, Stricture tightened his grip, "Where is Xyston?"

Curate quivered, clamped his jaw shut, and began searching the area for an escape route.

"Curate," Scrapper crowded in from the vacant side, pressing a blaster into the Maximal's side. "It would do you well to answer my comrade's question." To any onlooker, they appeared to be concerned for their friend, but the gravity of the taller Decepticon baring down on the Maximal left him fighting to retain control of his guise.

"Curate, a smart bot like yourself would know your history." Putting his mouth next to Curate's audio, he enunciated, "My real name is Scrapper. _Maul it over_."

"I-"

"_Where is Xyston?_" Stricture asked again. "If you don't answer me, I will start ripping the metal from your frame and force feed it to you."

"It-"

"_He_," Stricture corrected.

"-he-" Curate gulped, clenched his optics shut, and went on, "-there's a project. Protoform X Project. The work's divided. Only the top scientists have access to all locations."

"What do you have access to, then?" Scrapper prodded.

Swallowing, Curate tried to muster his strength, "If I tell you, you'll only kill me."

"If you don't tell us," Scrapper preened, "my friend here will let me play with you in ways that aren't conducive to your health."

"Consider it, Curate," the blue and silver Decepticon flicked his tongue over his lips. "I want you to think long and hard. You can be a good Maximal and answer all my questions, or you can become Scrapper's new toy. And I can tell you, it's been nearly three-hundred stellarcycles since he last made a sculpture."

"There's a supply station. It's in Ward Nine. It makes for easier access to the mines. I've level six access to the facility, but you'd need a ten to get access to all locations."

"Where's the other locations?" Stricture encouraged.

"Ward Five. Ward Seven."

"Which one is Xyston in?"

Curate attempted once more to make eye contact with his interrogator and failed. "I want to live. I want to leave here unharmed. Can you promise me that you'll let me go if I tell you where he is?"

Stricture smiled, "I give you my word. You tell me where Xyston is, and I will allow you to walk unharmed out of this building and be on your merry way."

"Ward Five. He's being held in Ward Five."

True to his word, Stricture slid away from the table, waved a hand towards the exit, and helped the Maximal stand. "Time to be on your way, Curate. But leave _slowly_."

After Curate had fumbled to the exit, Scrapper inquired, "Are you really going to let him go?"

"I'll keep my word. He's allowed to walk unharmed out of this building and away from here. But I never said I _wouldn't_ kill him." Stricture gripped his fellow Decepticon's pauldron, concentrated on the tracking device he had slipped onto the Maximal, and disappeared with a subtle displacement within the diner.

Briefly, they appeared in the alleyway ahead of Curate, snagged him by the arm, and teleported to their pre-arranged destination. Flailing and screaming, the Maximal tried to run for his life and received a kick to the face for his efforts. He wailed, "But you said you'd let me go!"

"I am certain if my second offered a deal, that he did so without tying his hands," Misery bore down upon the Maximal and squatted in front of him. Now laying in a fetal position and cradling his face, Curate struggled to back away from the Decepticon. "You are responsible for _ma modestie's_ absence. I seek compensation for my woe."

"Please, just let me go," Curate begged. "You don't need to do this. I don't even know who you are!"

"I know who you are," Scrapper grinned, taking a seat next to Taciturn on an empty crate. "The Covenant of Primus chronicles you extensively. _'So spake the tyrant king, and from his mouth came the great host, and his void wrought misery upon his dissenters'_."

"No, please no," the Maximal cried. "_Nooo!_"

"Who knew a Maximal could scream that long?" Scrapper chuckled only after Misery had brushed her gauntlets clean of the argent fluid.

"Scrapper of the Constructicons. The great engineer," Misery climbed to her feet and circled the taller Decepticon. "Your presence fills me with enthusiasm."

"I believe I have proven I am still loyal to our cause. Misery, I wish to speak with you in private."

She inclined her helm to Stricture and Taciturn. The wing mates bowed casually, backed away, and left the two to their privacy. To Scrapper, Misery nodded, "Speak plainly."

"I said I knew who you are, Misery. I meant it." He narrowed golden-hued scarlet optics at her, stooped so their faces were close together, and made a wry smile, "I was there when you rolled off the line."

Blinking once, Misery curled her mazarine lips into a smile. "You know what we stand to gain, then."

"Yes," Scrapper said.

"You will act as my proxy in this matter?"

"Free me like your flyer promised, and I will be your voice."

Without drawing away, Misery engaged her comm. link and reached out to her second and third. "Return to me." A blast of coloured smoke and the two Decepticons were once again at her side. She ordered without breaking eye contact, "Stricture, as was agreed."

"Of course," he said. Stepping up to place his hand on the Constructicon, Stricture flexed his wings systematically. Next, he folded them together and motioned to Misery and Taciturn, who then each gripped a wing. Briefly, Stricture inspected the marker, finding the hairline division between it and the Constructicon's chest. Finally, he chuckled, "I hope you're ready to start your life anew."

Their selective teleportation left the bomb to detonate within the empty warehouse.


	3. The Promise

_Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission._

_**Disclaimer:**__ No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified._

_**Dedications:**__ Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favorites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better._

_**Author's notes:**__ Okay, this one wasn't as bad as chapter 2, but I still had to do some major revisions. It looks like uploads may be every two weeks apart instead of every week like I had planned. Either way, thank you to everyone who has continued to read!_

* * *

><p><strong>Epoch:<strong>

**The Promise**

**Joshin Yasha** (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

* * *

><p>Air-slake gulped, released a shudder, and shared a look with his twin. "It's exactly like he said it would be."<p>

"Do you think we should tell him, then?" Air Lock asked, for once playing the straight man. "I don't . . . I mean I can't . . . He's our-"

"I _know_," Air-slake interjected. He rolled across their office in his chair and took his brother's hands in his own. "But we both know what's at stake."

"We know what he told us," Air Lock resigned, and although his hands were held, he still had to fight the urge to nervously wipe at his brow. "But I still think we should tell him."

"It's not for us to decide," Air-slake sighed, gripped his brother's hands tighter, and drew their hands to his helm. "We can't deviate, you know we can't. This is already set in motion."

Air Lock shook his helm emphatically, "You can't believe that. You can't seriously believe that there's nothing we can do to change things." Air Lock freed himself from his brother's grip and ensnared him by the pauldrons. "Please, brother. Not for ourselves but for him. We have to tell him."

" 'Lock," the red and grey Autobot-sired laced his fingers around his brother's wrists, gently chastened him, and objected, "I know we're heaving one line upon another, but even you have to see that father is, and will always be, _right_."

Swallowing, Air Lock buried his face into his brother's arm, "Just because he's right doesn't make _this_ right."

"Doubt is not a luxury we can afford," Air Slake hugged his twin with one arm, drew him closer, and embraced him. While he comforted his brother, Air Slake rested the side of his face on the top of his twin's helm. From that angle, his attention was drawn to the flashing indicator. " 'Lock, there's a dispatch coming in. We need to take it."

Gently composing himself, Air Lock took a deep, unnecessary breath, and returned to his station. Calling up the middle display, the twins squeezed in beside one another and narrowed optics at the singular canary orb that stared back at them. Air Lock waved a hand in greeting, "Shock Therapy, to what do we owe this late night honour?"

_~"There's been an explosion in Ward Five. No reported casualties, but the droids are useless for surveying anything under rubble. I'm patching over the coordinates."~_

"Coordinates received," Air Lock transferred the information from the data pad into his neural programming. "The droids have locked down the area, then?"

_~"Affirmative. The immediate perimeter's been evacuated and containment zone one has been established. My initial evaluation of the block reveals minor gas lines leading into the colony from the mines. I do not have any indication that those lines have been compromised; however, I am prepared to issue a statement to the populace in containment zone two if an expanded perimeter is required."~_

"That won't be necessary," Air-slake interrupted. He'd taken the opportunity to load his gear while the expressionless Decepticon had brought them up to speed. "Air Lock and I will dispatch out to the location to investigate further. Cybershark is on call tonight - have you informed him yet?"

The image of Shock Therapy waivered, and though it was impossible for the fixed orb to narrow, the light behind her optic more than made up for it. _~"I have not."~_

The brothers exchanged bemused looks, then Air Lock inclined to the screen with a smirk. "Official business needs reported to the lead on call. Wake 'im up. Twins out."

* * *

><p>He hardly ever slept by choice, but when he reached his limits, his body often shut down not of his own choice.<p>

So when Depth Charge awoke in the berth of the safe house, he had a moment of disorientation and weapon pointing before he became totally cognizant. Sheathing his gun blade to his hip, the security chief peeled himself off the berth and stumbled across the room and into the main lavatory. For a moment, he inspected his face in the mirror, checked his body over, then exited and made his way into the main room.

"Misery?" he prodded, thoroughly investigating the storage room before returning to the main room. Huffing out a frustrated breath, Depth Charge punched a fist into the counter top. It was irrational of him, yes, but there was the hope that Misery would have been asleep next to him.

After all, they had begun the night together.

"Here," she announced, climbing the stairs into the flat and turning the corner. "I have been productive."

Involuntarily thrown off balance, the security chief tossed his hands into the air, "Where'd ya go?"

The blue and black Decepticon meandered around the furniture and hunched over a center table. Waving him over to the opposite seat, the female withdrew a data crystal from her side and inserted it into the receptacle on the top of the table. Four surveillance images ascended to the center of a holographic display, each displaying a different Maximal or Predacon. Misery pointed an icy dactyl to the bottom right picture. She asked, "Recognize him?"

Depth Charge narrowed his crimson optics after sitting down. "Oh, yeah. Marx. Guy with the solidarity movement from yesterday."

Misery nodded. "I delved into the mines and discovered several miners in collusion with this representative. His alias is Viper, but my research has yielded several aliases. Among them: Ruthenium, Yammer, and Pabulum. I have confirmation that he has been recruiting miners and other labourers under the banner of the International Labour Union. Of the founding members-" she pointed to the three remaining pictures in counter-clockwise fashion "-Rampant, Pyramid, Time Twister- Viper is the most radicalized."

"Ohh," the security chief rubbed at his helm, "do I want to know how ya got all this?"

"Honest answer?"

"Please."

"No." She spread her fingers, touched them to the tabletop, and slid them towards the larger Maximal. Underneath her touch, a yellow, digitized keyboard activated and she began typing proficiently. Her commands triggered text and more images to appear, all of which spun on an axis.

"Our interference," Misery went on, "prevented Viper from kidnapping and ransoming the Maximal Esoteric for reformation of his companies. Colony Omicron was selected as the starting point not for its resources, but for its access to the Patriarch."

"I'm rather insulted," Depth Charge frowned. "Really insulted, actually. It's like you just implied my equipment is too small."

Misery hesitated, widened her optics by millimeters, and peered at the Maximal for the longest time. When she finally realized he had made a joke, she continued, "_Not_ for lack of security. The Patriarch flaunts Omicron as his safest facility. The regulations you impose permit him to relax his hired detail."

She typed another sequence and an image of the colony took the place of all the others. "The colony was built into the asteroid when first chartered. The manufacturing districts, residential complexes, and expansive populace came later. The wards were renumbered, and capitalism thrived by the segregation of manual labourers and bureaucratic society."

Misery poked her gauntlet into the map and highlighted the sections of the colony that were built into the asteroid. "Wards Six, Nine, Ten, and Eleven were the original four mining colonies. Wards Five and Seven came later with the expansion, and One through Four, Eight, and Twelve became the residential districts."

"I got that, but why does it make the Patriarch an easier target when he's here? I would think it'd be that much harder to reach him."

"Geographically, yes. But the checkpoints grandsired into Omicron over the stellarcycles prevent the labourers from wandering past the manufacturing districts and into the high-end residential complexes."

"I've been tryin' to fix that," the security chief interjected.

Ignoring him, Misery went on, "Viper became sympathetic with the plight of the miners, but because he is not a labourer for this or any other outpost, he has gained access to the residential districts."

"Which explains how he and the other sympathizes got into Dock One. Now I follow ya." The leviathan reached through the holographic display, groped a hand around Misery's gauntlet, and drew her attention to his face. "Now tell me why you're being so forthcoming with this information."

Taking a moment to consider his question, Misery chased his hand away and cleared the display. "This was recorded one trimara ago. One of my contacts forwarded the information to me less than an hour ago." The Decepticon drew up another icon, touched a key, and a recording began.

_~"This is recording three-hundred thirty-seven. The date is Vectorn the ninth of orbital cycle five. I am Doctor Chasuble, and today I will be demonstrating the test subject's advanced rate of repairs for our guests." The blue and light grey Maximal made a face, then waved a hand in front of the camera. "No, no. That sounds horrible. Retake it."~_

_~"But it sounds fine,"~ a bot encouraged from off screen._

_~"It is atrocious! Retake it, please."~_

Depth Charge blinked at the female, which caused her to shrug in response. She said, "It is raw footage."

_After two more takes, the onscreen scientist greeted several off-screen representatives and mentioned esteemed viewers who could not be onsite but were there via video conference. The scientist then directed the attention of the audience to a tinted containment tank. ~"I must warn you all. What you are about to see may cause you to feel sickened and horrified, but bare in mind, this is only a test subject. The protoform within this chamber has no awareness, and can only be likened to a ravenous beast. Most of its reactions are beyond our control. If you are at all unsettled by this, then I request you leave the audience for the duration of the test."~_

_Murmurs erupted, but by the reaction of the scientist, no one left. ~"Excellent. Messrs, please direct your attention to the chamber."~ Chasuble paddled through the crowd to his seat, and activated the lights within the chamber. After dimming the exterior light over the crowd, the scientist turned over an armature within the container._

_Seconds later, the surveillance shifted to a restrained form within the cell. Slatted emerald optics followed the mechanical arm as it circled, and though the behemoth could not move against the restraints, he tried regardless. Even with his vocalizer removed, his thunderous warning reverberated through the muzzle._

"Xyston . . ." Depth Charge vacillated when he saw the red and gold male. Then he realized what had been done to contain the behemoth. "They've . . ."

"Immobilization through amputation," unwavering, Misery locked optics with the security chief. Tilting her helm to the side and flattening her palms on the tops of her legs, she thinned her lips in a vacant expression.

"Why?" he pleaded. "Why are you showing me this? I don't-"

"Show humility, Depth Charge. I implore you to proceed. There is someone on this video who is connected to the events yesterday."

"Why don't ya just tell me, then?" dejectedly he asked.

For the duration of the video's next soliloquy by the scientist, the Decepticon female ruminated her position with exactitude. Stroking a key, the video paused with a fulminant fixation upon the armature. "My words would be accusation without evidence. I wish you to formulate your opinion based upon the testimony of this video."

The request was simple enough, but the momentous weight that pressed in upon him implied his spark might regret his decision before long. "Fine. Play it."

Misery recognized the other's tumultuous decision, and while she said nothing to comfort his choice, the blue and black female gave him her undivided attention. For any lesser bot, the stare would have been unsettling, but for Depth Charge, he understood the underlying amelioration that Misery left unuttered. Gesticulating with her helm, Misery continued the film.

_The following sequence began like some rustic horror film. The mechanical arm bent over the bound form, transformed into a notched rotary, and began hacking away at the protesting form. Torrents of mech fluid erupted from the recrudescent wounds left in the wake of the circular saw. Notwithstanding the splay of the argent liquid, much of the precious lifeblood tumbled over itself to return to his body. Once enough of the fluid had been recaptured, the wounds mended just as quickly as they had been made._

Ostensibly, Depth Charge remained affected by the imagery, but the subtle twitch of his optics each time a new method of torture was introduced belied his composure. Oodles of minutes longer, and the security chief had watched the behemoth endure pain after inflicted pain. Never once did Xyston give into the pain - he allowed only fury and hatred fuel his responses. And somewhere, deep down in his gut, Depth Charge found solace.

"We are to the section I wish you to see," Misery palliated.

He said nothing, only blinked once in affirmation.

_The demonstration had come to a gory end, with traces of mech fluid coating everything from the walls, to the saw blades, to the drill bit that had burrowed into the helm of the behemoth. Through all of it, though, there had never been a sound from the crowd._

_Like some contrived, organized troupe of performers, the audience bounded down from their seats, one by one congratulating Chasuble for his research and efforts. One of the bots that he shook hands with said jovially, ~"Well done, well done. You're a testament to your profession, doctor!"~_

_~"Excellent work, Chasuble,"~ said another._

_Finally, down to the last group of benefactors that surrounded him off screen, Chasuble bowed deeply to the bot directly behind the camera. He abased, ~"My lord!"~_

"_There_," Misery paused the film, highlighted a rectangle above the scientist's bent form, and zoomed the screen upon the darkened chamber. Scrubbing the image almost instantaneously, it became apparent just who the scientist had been speaking to.

"No," Depth Charge whispered. "Is that-?"

"Esoteric," Misery confirmed.

"The Patriarch," he monished, hands balling into fists. "Sonovabitch."

"You understand now why I could not explain forthright?"

"Yeah," the Maximal heaved, the ardour of his wrath teaming inside of him. "Fuck."

"Your eloquence ceases to astound me," Misery remarked.

"Why the hell-" Depth Charge stopped, forced himself to take a minute to calm down to a manageable level, and continued, "-they're trying to duplicate that project. The one that made you and him immortal."

"You understand that I cannot allow that to happen," she left the still-shot of the Patriarch to flicker within the holographic display. "Those such as Esoteric cannot gain this ability."

The leviathan climbed to his feet and doddered to and fro in deep thought. Had the floor been made of lesser materials, he'd have worn trenches around the furniture. "Why?" he spun to face her. "Why did you show me this? What do ya hope to gain?"

The Decepticon female yielded to his request. "Esoteric knows the location of Xyston. I desire to pursue him for interrogation."

Depth Charge fixated on the female. Nearly turning over the table to reach her, he grabbed Misery by the collar and drew her to her taloned feet. "Say it, Misery. Say what it is you want."

Fleeringly, Misery disclosed, "The cover of the International Labour Union will allow me to infiltrate the Patriarch's private chambers and interrogate him to Xyston's whereabouts."

"But he's already seen your face," Depth Charge was boggled.

Gently, Misery lifted a gauntlet to the Maximal's face and pinched her fingers to his chin almost tenderly. There was a subsequent mo that left the two gazing into each other's optics. The carmine coating of their optics flourished with light. When it felt as if the heat of their optics would have melted away their frames, Misery supplied, "I have my proxy."

"You would risk one of your contacts to torture him for information," Depth Charge accused. Despite his better judgment, the leviathan inched his face closer to Misery's.

"Does it excite you, precious pet, to consider devious acts with me? To rebel against your normal inclinations and give into your primal instincts?"

"Misery," he said with surd, yet still closing the distance between them. Now, with only millimeters between their lips, Depth Charge reiterated, "Would you really oust one of your contacts for the sake of information?"

"Only if my employer permits this sting to occur," she mused. Narrowing her optics and parting her blue lips, Misery tilted her helm ever so invitingly.

"Can you promise me you won't kill him?" Of course Depth Charge questioned her intent. He'd be a fool not to.

"I promise I will not kill the Patriarch," Misery swore.

They sealed the chasm between them.

* * *

><p>Air Lock scoured the explosion site, looking for any signs of casualties. Picking through the rubble of what was once a wall, the hyperactive twin scavenged an empty drum and came flying at his brother. Dumping the empty canister over his head, the jet leaped over a collapsed scaffold and pronounced, "Rawr! I am Megatron, High Lord of Ball bearings and Codpieces!"<p>

Smacking the bucket from his brother, Air-slake chastised, "You're an idiot!"

"_Es ist mir scheißegal_," Air Lock retorted.

"_Grappi rir neeh fauwl_," Air-slake sneered, plucking a torn metal section from the floor and throwing it at his brother.

"Oh, hey, no fair!" Air Lock dodged. "I haven't learned Sawiri yet. That's so uncool!"

"Get your act together," swatted Air-slake. He resituated himself among the debris and yanked another piece of scrap metal from the floor. "This is a working crime scene. Now is not the time to mess around."

"Jeez, no need to get pissy," the red and white jet panted. He drove a hand into the downed scaffold and heaved. "You act like we're really going to find . . ."

"These things should be taken seriously." Air-slake resigned, turned on his heels, and stomped towards his brother. Instead of continuing his reprimand, the stoic caught a glimpse of the ventail armour that had been charred.

"Well would you look at that," Air Lock dove, lifted the rectangular remains from the ventail, and hefted it into his brother's hands. "It's a tag. Looks like it blew the bugger apart."

"You're suggesting," started the Autobot-sired, "that there's the remains of a Decepticon to go with this tag."

The twin nodded. "I wonder . . . You think Misery might have known him?"

"We're presuming it's a 'him' now?"

"Oh, come on. You know as well as I do. For every Decepticon femme there's like thousands upon thousands of bots."

"So . . . you're suggesting we ask her?" Air-slake turned up a hand.

Air Lock shrugged, holding up the blackened remains of the tag. "It's not like we'll be getting a serial number off this any time soon."

* * *

><p>"About time you got here," Stricture stood from his seat on the berth, weight shifting to his left as the female Decepticon paced into the room. "I was wondering if you were ever going to answer me."<p>

She waved him off. Checking around the room, Misery only spotted Taciturn hiding in the darkness. His red optics faded into the mix with the dim ruby lighting around the east wall.

He was keeping guard. Good.

"Depth Charge has his suspicions," Misery fulminated the silence.

"But I thought you were being outright with him. Shouldn't he know what we're up to?" Stricture's smile faded from his face. "What? Did I miss something?"

"Depth Charge is naturally suspicious," she observed. "By announcing my intentions to him, I have given him grievous misgivings regarding my motives. He believes I am deceiving him, ergo he shall overlook the obvious."

The second slumped back onto the berth, settling his chin into his hands, and covering the surface with all of his body. "So by the time he figures out what's going on we'll be long gone." _And this entire colony will be destroyed,_ he thought. Thankfully, he was more intelligent than to casually let slip their plans in a place where they could be overheard.

"Yes, but we had not accounted for Shockwave's grand-sired. Let alone Air Raid's twins," Misery corrected.

Taciturn shot up, his form taking shape from the darkness, and as he now stood beside his captain, his voice was dark and precise. "Leave them to me. I shall smelt those two myself for what their sire did to us! They will _burn_."

It was not uncommon knowledge that it had been Air Raid who had tipped the war in favour of the Autobots, and through him the Autobots had brought down the inevitable victory over the Decepticons. What was uncommon knowledge was exactly _how_ the Autobot had accomplished that masterful feat.

"You shall have to request that privilege at a later time, _ma lance-flammes_, for now we must proceed with our plans." Misery lurched forward, grabbed hold of the edge of the berth, and then draped herself across Stricture's legs. Resting comfortably, she queried, "_Ma paresse_, how is the great engineer?"

The blue and silver Decepticon shuddered, lips parting and breath easing out slowly. "I got him off the colony while you were . . . _distracting_ the boy. Scrapper did supply me with very detailed maps of the mining wards. He even had complete maps of the corridors that were sealed off. It appears that Curate's supply station in Ward Nine would be a dead-end for us if we tried to go that route. We need to hit them in Five before they could have a chance to move Xyston. Going through Seven and Nine would just take too long."

Misery was silent before resting her helm in her gauntlets. "The Maximals are not only holding him captive, but they seek to rediscover the method to replicate Starscream's immortal spark. The video that Syntagma sent us confirms that TRUNDLE obtains funding by advertising Xyston as an evolutionary product." Misery rolled onto her side, roosting into the nook Stricture had made of his body. "Care to add to the discussion, _ma lance-flammes_?"

The red and black Decepticon knelt by his captain, nestled into his wing mate's shoulder, and sat his chin against the back of his gauntlet so that his face was next to Misery's. "Scientists are idiots. They try for the most complicated of methods to duplicate results rather than using the most obvious approach."

"Meaning," Stricture preened, "that humans are right. Nerds never get to fuck."

"Crude," Misery elbowed him. "But not incorrect."

"So," the second in command clamoured his way between his captain and wing mate, "how _did_ the boy take the video?"

"As I expected. The evidence of the Patriarch's involvement with the Protoform Project is enough for Depth Charge to consent to our contrived impersonation."

"Ohhh, so he's okay with us killing him?" Stricture chuckled.

"Depth Charge has expressed his desire that I not kill the Patriarch."

All were silent, exchanging knowing glances before Stricture became giddy with excitement. "Oh, the boy will learn eventually the exactitude of words. I'm going to enjoy carving this guy up."

"To your original question," Taciturn pointed a talon into the air, wagging it while he focused. "When we break the Patriarch, we'll have at least the travel route into the facility where Xyston is held. By the way the scientist greeted Esoteric, I would place him as a white-list customer for the project, which might give us more rooms to the facility."

"Points of entry. I like," Stricture interrupted.

Taciturn went on, "It would also allow us a chance to piece together a working map of the facility. I can extrapolate a layout based upon structural design. It might be enough to give us a general estimate on the number of employees, as well."

"The notion has merit." Misery rose on one elbow, hoisted herself from the berth, and left her companions to themselves. "Time to engage our trap."

* * *

><p>"Oy, Cyba!" Air Lock thundered into the room, tossing a transparent case upon the table in front of the second in command. "We got a tag. 'Slake is roll calling all war criminals registered to the colony. Problem i-is . . ."<p>

"You need clearance higher than Depth Charge and I can grant you." Exhausted, Cybershark peeled his prone body from the table and sat up to inspect the device. "Why're you wasting time bringing this here? Why don't you just call your dad and have him give you clearance?"

"Because _Dad_ won't exercise authority on official investigations that have to clear channels," the jet jogged to the table, smacked a hand atop the case like he was racing to ring the bell at the end of a competition, and waggled his eye arches. "That, and it would take too long to break through the channels to get to him. Besides, 'Slake and I had a different idea, though."

"No," Cybershark's drowsy response lacked the necessary vehemence to accentuate his order.

"Cy', we have two," he held up two fingers and shoved them into Cybershark's face, "count 'em, _two_ Decepticons here who would surely have access to that list."

"It's a veil-list, 'Lock," Cybershark massaged his temples, "Misery's not gonna know who's on it because she wasn't a high ranking officer. Shock Therapy's a grand-sire to Shockwave, and Primus knows _he_ won't give up a _veil-list_ without something in return."

"What if you offered to let 'Therapy punch you in the face again?"

" . . . "

"O-kay, point taken." Air Lock chuckled and twirled a chair around so he could sit. "But seriously, think you could sweet-talk Misery into getting the list for us?"

Cybershark made an exaggeration of blinking, adjusting his helm from leaning against one shoulder to the other. He faced the Autobot-sired for the duration of a spark beat before yawning. "Picking her head is not as easy as you might think."

"Why would it be so hard?" smirked Air Lock. "I know you tried to peek in mine before."

"Quite unsuccessfully, if you remember," the teal Maximal reclined in his chair and rubbed at the his face with the back of his gauntlet. "Some bots I can hear, some bots I can't. Also, Misery's very old. She'd be like trying to drink an ocean in one sip."

"Consider it, then," the jet stood. "In the meanwhile, Air Slake and I will try and pry the veil-list from 'Therapy. Maybe she'll talk to us."

Cybershark grunted, "Uh-huh."

* * *

><p>"So you really think these guys are going to try and hit the Patriarch again?"<p>

Jazz³ fought to keep up with his commanding officer as he, Depth Charge, and Misery dodged serving droids on their way through the energon rotisserie.

Impressively, Cybertronians never had the need for refueling sites that expanded beyond a cubical and hose interface until they interacted with humans. Of the millions of species in the universe, humans were the first to propose customization of structures for aesthetic reasons. When the war between the Autobots and Decepticons came to an end, it had opened certain Cybertronians to ideas of fancy that were impressed upon them by their friendship with the humans.

It ultimately meant that colonies like Omicron that were far enough from Cybertron had a penchant for fueling stations stylized like restaurants. It also meant that the Patriarch could be found at one surrounded by business partners.

"Yo, Esoteric," Depth Charge trampled up to the corner booth that overlooked the top ward of Omicron.

A private security drone flew into his path and opened its laser clamps in warning.

"Really? You're gonna try that?" Depth Charge shook his head, eyed the drone, and smirked. "Security override, voice code Depth Charge."

The droid annunciated a proprietary chime, hovered off to the side, and ignored the Maximals for the duration of the conversation. Jazz³ riddled himself at the droid's abrupt withdrawal, looked to Misery for guidance, but shrugged at her indifferentism.

The Patriarch, on the other hand, was not so indifferent as to overlook the fourth insult from the leviathan in less than a day. "You presume to trample upon my meal," he glared over the cube of energon on his tray and stabbed at it with his tableware. "You arrogant-"

"Arrogant son of a bitch, yadda yadda yadda. I've heard it all before," Depth Charge brushed him off, zipped into the vacant seat of the booth, and propped a leg on the edge of the table. "I'm here to help ya, despite what you may think," he gripped a pitcher of oil, balanced the Patriarch's half-polished container and an empty one in his grip, and filled them both until oil splashed out upon the table. The blue and purple Maximal skipped the cup across the table, whereupon the Patriarch's white hand caught it before it fell over the edge.

"Don'cha wanna know what I came to warn ya about?" he simpered.

"I have quite lost my patience for you," quipped the Patriarch. "I command you to leave before my meal is finished."

"Esoteric-"

"_Patriarch_."

"_Esoteric_, I'm here as part of the on-going investigation into your attempted abduction. I have reason to believe that the kidnappers will try again, so I'm assigning one of my officers to escort you for the next thirty megacycles." The security chief consumed a bit of the oil, sloshed it around in his mouth to determine the grade, then swallowed. "Hm. Not bad. I'm partial for Gygax Grey Galaxy. It has a kick to it that'll put ya on your ass."

"No," the Patriarch emitted his most insipid frown in the direction of the Autobot-sired while Jazz³ flinched behind his visor. The businessman rotated to the Decepticon female who paid him little to no mind. "Her I'll take."

"Hey, wait a second," Jazz³ looked between the Patriarch and Misery. "How come she gets picked?"

Esoteric rolled his optics. "I have seen that one personally in action. She is precise, puissant, and placid."

"But I've got swagger," Jazz³ offered.

"If I am to be saddled with an escort, I prefer one who will remain silent and do their duty." Esoteric then turned his vacant stare upon the security chief. "Do not think I will forgo your recent insults to me. When this is over, Depth Charge, I will have you transferred to a penal jug and demoted."

"Gee, Eso'. Why don't you tell me how you really feel?" Depth Charge said with mirth. He then downed the rest of the oil, removed himself from the booth, and clapped a hand upon Misery's pauldron. "Lemme know if you get into any trouble."

Misery cocked her head to the side and allowed a blithesome expression to evince her blue lips. "If I encounter trouble, then presume I am dead."

Depth Charge collected his third by the scruff of his collar and motioned with his helm towards the lift. "Come on, Cue'. Let's get back to the base and work out the likely areas for targeting."

"Okay," Jazz³ clipped an empty tabled on his way past, juggled with it for several seconds before righting it, then rushed to rejoin his commanding officer. He whispered, "But really, you think this whole plan is going to work? I'm all for getting the bastard to incriminate himself for the greater good, but will Misery really be able to swindle him into giving some restitution to the miners?"

"I think if anyone can pull it off, Misery'll be the one." Depth Charge watched the female in the far corner of the dome scraper, acknowledged her one last time before the doors to the lift closed, then said to his subordinate, "Misery's great at manipulating people."

* * *

><p>Misery tapped her talons once on the loading zone outside the fueling bistro, designated the street a secure zone, and motioned the Patriarch down from the doorway. He had been awaiting her clearance for several minutes, so he had gotten sidetracked with speaking to one of the restaurateurs. Now that her inspection of the corridor was complete, Esoteric bid farewell to his acquaintance and made his way down to the personal transport.<p>

"You are not very subtle," the Patriarch said upon approach. "I thought the intent was for you to guard me in obnubilation."

"A certain display is required when dealing with amateurs," Misery held the door to the transport and motioned him inside. She climbed in shortly after, pretending to have not run a secondary evaluation of street. "Amateurs will mistake my presumed arrogance for failure to initiate a conclusionary appraisal of their concealed positions."

The Patriarch narrowed his optics and flicked glances out the side windows as the transport gained speed. He reseated his attention to Misery and glared, "That _boy_ uses me for a lure?"

The Decepticon female lulled her helm from one shoulder to the other. Equally, she matched his furious expression with her calm demeanour. "A bait and trap. Overtly simply, but characterized by measurable exactitude." Leisurely, Misery leaned towards the businessman and cocked her helm. "You presume too many faults with Depth Charge. I advise you to reconsider your dissentious opinion of him."

"Is that so?" asked the Patriarch.

Misery beamed, a memory passing through her mind that was akin to a mother seeing her son triumphant at an athletic or academic event. "The boy is cleverer than you believe."

The Maximal reclined into the rear of the transport, considering her words. "You imply that he is smart enough to lure out these malefactors _and_ capture them?" He laughed, then continued, "My word, you put too much faith in that boy."

"You're right about one thing . . ."

Smoke billowed out from Misery's chest as her optics faded to a dim maroon empty of expression. Her body collapsed into the floor of the transport as the shooter targeted the Patriarch's chest. Smirking, the blue, silver, and gold male wagged a finger at the cringing Maximal. "We definitely took the bait, but it looks like we broke the line."

"You dare-" began Esoteric.

Stricture interrupted, "-to set about a revolution? Why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride." He winked, kept his weapon trained on the Patriarch's chest, and withdrew the partition between them and the driver. Opening like stage curtains, the divider withdrew into the confines of the transport's walls to reveal the black and red Decepticon who piloted the vehicle. "Oy, Aphasia, get us out of here. We'll continue this conversation elsewhere."

As he reached for the door handle through the Decepticon's momentary distraction, the Patriarch screamed when the harpoon shot through his hand and into the back of the seat, anchoring him still. "What did I just say?" Stricture frowned. "I told you to sit back. It means to stay calm, don't move, and peacefully let yourself be taken by my friend and me."

He pitched forward, going bridge to bridge with the Patriarch. The first signs of instability crossed his face and anger blotted his golden-hued scarlet optics. "If you cross me again, I'll take your arms off at the shoulder and smelt you into a lampshade. Now sit back and _enjoy the ride_."


	4. Restless

_Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission._

_**Disclaimer:**__ No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified._

_**Dedications:**__ Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favourites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better._

_**Author's notes:**__ Same deal as before - I went back and read the original version of this and thought 'Oh by Primus . . .' and just had to redo it. Also, a big shout out to Starfire201 for being such a loyal reader! Additionally, I hope everyone who reads this remembers to leave a comment - because comments are good and help a writer improve. :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Epoch:<strong>

**Restless**

**Joshin Yasha** (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

* * *

><p><em>This is internal log ninety-seven of Eventorn the twelfth of orbital cycle six. I've kept these logs so that when I die, there will be a record - a warning to anyone who finds my body.<em>

_I've known about this from the beginning. When I was sired, my father told me stories that I hadn't believed. To prove himself, he told me stories of things yet to pass, things that were outside his control._

_They always happened._

_There were revolutions on planets that Cybertron had no affairs in; assassinations of political figureheads that he had no way of orchestrating; predictions of televised, celebrity deaths right down to the exact time and element of their demise._

_Father knew them all before they happened._

_Even when his point had been made, he kept going. He told me of stars that were to vapourize entire civilizations in the beat of a spark._

_The first time it happened, I asked. I asked why he hadn't warned them, why -if he knew- he did nothing to save them. It came down to one word:_

_Destiny._

_It haunts me even now. Every point in time is defined as happening with one specific outcome in mind. Sure, we have free will. We can try to change our lives for the better, but Destiny will always seek to write events as they were meant to happen._

_Things so infinitesimally small that you wouldn't think would affect the universe do, in fact, have weight. I've learned over time that Terrans call it the butterfly effect: one small act, such as stepping upon an insect on one planet, will directly influence a natural disaster on another._

_My brother and I once sought to challenge it, to prove our father wrong. He took us to _Carnivàle_ on Nouveau Versailles one season and introduced us to the troupe leader. Afterwards, in private, Father had said, _"That man will die before sundown by careless action".

_Five times we saved him. Five times my brother and I pulled this man from the path of death. Each time our father shook his helm, silently and dejectedly implying our wasted efforts._

_Five times we saved this man, and at the end of _Carnivàle_, Father's prediction came true. We failed to save the troupe leader from a fuel container. It had been knocked over by a drunkard looking for a place smoke powdered catcit, a hallucinogenic poison manufactured by Matsuda Executions._

_My brother and I learned that day that we could not stop Destiny._

Jetzt_, you may ask why I've told you this. You see, it's because I'm going to die soon. This guilt has weighed me down since Father told me of what was to come of Omicron. I have to come clean._

_I'm going to die here._

_I can't atone for my sins, not when I know of what's to come. But I can tell you this was needed. I am but one Maximal. I alone cannot change what will come in the days to follow, but I can make sure everyone knows I stayed to fight regardless._

_If you found this recording, then it means Destiny has devoured Omicron with the same causality of a trapdoor opening for a lynched man._

_I didn't - I mean . . . I just-just wanted someone to know that I am guilty. Guilty with prior knowledge of what is to come. The knowledge I possess could have saved lives. But it would also have sentenced us all to a fate much worse than this._

_Ten-thousand eight-hundred fifty-six._

_That's the total number of casualties you'll find here. Ten-thousand eight-hundred fifty-six casualties and two missing guardians._

_Just know that this had to happen. Omicron cannot be undone. I cannot regret my actions, but I can tell you that my hands are just as soaked with mech fluid as the beast who will ravage this colony._

_Herein lies judgment: I am Air-slake, and I am guilty._

Ending his internal recording, the red and white Autobot-sired composed himself and tucked a data pad under his arm. Rapping thrice upon the door, he patiently awaited outside the communications tower for the officer to invite him inside.

"Enter," she shrieked from inside the tower once the door had receded into the walls. Following a comical somersault and near catastrophic pitch over the railing that lined the interior network of computers, the Autobot-sired found himself caught in a mess of cables, both mineral and fiber-optic. Air-slake called out to the monitor to ask for her assistance.

"Oh, hmm," in a mess of her own cables - these attached to various parts of her body - Shock Therapy descended upon the jet and inquisitively observed him. "I advised earlier that this tower would be restructured to suite my needs."

Spinning upside down in a web of tensed lines, Air-slake fished for the data pad that was teetering on the edge of the platform. "Could you-could you grab that, please?" he strained, dactyls swatting for the device.

The violet Decepticon-sired reached out and collected the data pad, turned it over in her hands multiple times before reading through the report. "You could have sent this via the subnet."

"It's on a closed unit. I haven't officially submitted the report yet," the lazy rotation of his swing brought him to face the wall. _Hello, wall,_ he thought, as it was the only thing that came to mind during his embarrassing stint. He then continued, somewhat muffled, "If you scroll down, you'll see why."

Her canary orb flashed with suspicion, then she flipped her thumb across the data pad and skimmed the last of the report. "A tag?" she asked. "You mean a termination tag?"

"There was no serial number on it, but I suspect it may have been someone . . ." he left the sentence to dwindle, praying that she would take mercy on him and cut him down.

Shock Therapy upturned herself so that she, too, hung from the cables like an opossum. "You seek to investigate the cause of death for someone who is potentially on the veil-list."

"Well, that is to say," Air-slake widened his optics as the female Decepticon drew uncomfortably close to him. "I'm sorry, could you . . . ?"

She gripped him tight by the leg, jerked him free of the cables, and ascended to the control room of the tower. Releasing him upon the platform, Shock Therapy moved with serpentine accuracy to her chair and perched contemplatively. "That list is guarded by the High Council."

"I," the jet furiously examined the control tower before returning his attention to the female, "I understand your grandsire was never on the list."

"That is correct," she said.

"I also understand, per rumours of course, that he may be privileged to the names upon that list."

Blinking once, she revealed nothing. Examining the fingers of her left hand, Shock Therapy ruminated to the clanks of automated reconstruction of the tower's interface. She repeated, "That list is heavily guarded by the High Council."

"Yes, but I was wondering. If you could-"

"Please leave me," she cut him off. When it became clear to him that Shock Therapy would not comment further upon the request, Air-slake humbled himself with a bow. Before he could completely dismiss himself from the tower, the Decepticon-sired yielded, "I will ask him, but I do not know if he will answer. I only ask that you refrain from submitting the report until you hear from me on this matter."

"Thank you, 'Therapy."

"Do not thank me, yet."

* * *

><p>". . ."<p>

"I think this is a nice touch, don't you?" Stricture disappeared from one side of the table and reappeared with a plate of energon delicatessens in one hand and a bottle of refined oil in the other. He went about decorating the table with props ranging from computers to fuel to transparencies with encoded information, all in an effort to portray the right image for the camera mounted to the back of another chair. It was stationed at just the right height to be eye-level with a mid-size Cybertronian, all in a contrived effort to maintain some symbolism of order.

". . ."

"This is just for show, of course. There is only so much I can do under the circumstances." Leaning across the table, Stricture circumvolved a chalice on its edge and guided it with two fingers _tours chaînés déboulés_ to the Patriarch. "For you," another chalice found its way to the table, in the place setting in front of the camera, "and for your guest."

". . ."

"I know, I know, the Vaidya cutlery is last year's model and shouldn't be served with Sahft metalware, but the colours go so well together. You don't mind, do you?"

The burthen of Esoteric's malice-laced optics heaved copious threats at the Decepticon. Muzzled and restrained, the Maximal made an impressive display of flagrancy. More importantly, he held on to his self-aggrandized conceitedness.

"Oh, don't be like that, Eso'. We're here to have a nice tête-à-tête." The blue and gold male tipped oil into both calices, examined the one closest to the Patriarch for a bit, and poured enough oil to raise the level by millimeters. His hex-wings flexed, oscillated, and cringed.

Smacking the chalice from the table, the Patriarch jerked in his restraints at the off-kelter display by his captor. "No, no, no, it's all wrong. We'll have to start over again."

* * *

><p>Misery drew her handgun, pointed it at the door, and spoke without looking away from the monitor. "Have you come to provide oversight?"<p>

"I'm not dumb, Misery. Ya promised you wouldn't kill him, but that doesn't stop your pets."

Depth Charge tromped to her as Misery holstered her weapon. Since they were alone, he greeted her with a hand on her backside and man-handled her around. Now that they were facing each other, the leviathan issued a low, guttural razz into her face. "You call him in here. Ya tell Stricture he will not do anything to harm the Patriarch."

"Stricture's methods are psychological. He will not act without my consent." Misery traced an icy dactyl under the Maximal's chin. "You tie my hands."

"We'll discuss thrall opportunities later," Depth Charge laced his fingers around Misery's arm and pulled her close. "You guarantee me right now that neither you nor any of your ilk will do physical harm upon Esoteric. That there will be no danger to his life, limb, or psyche. That you will do everything in your power to keep him _alive_."

Brow once furrowed, Misery withdrew to an expressionless mask that betrayed nothing. "Very well, Depth Charge. I will agree. For now."

Realization poked him between the eyes. "Where's Tass?"

"I am thorough if nothing else," Misery turned back to the monitor. The camera caught Stricture rearranging the amenities on the table closest to the Patriarch and substituting in replacement chalices for the ones he had broken. "It stands to reason that my immortality benefits this contrived abduction of Esoteric. Stricture's grandiose gesture convinced Esoteric of my death. His actions now are to enervate the Patriarch while my left hand canvases his estate."

"I give ya credit, chickypoo. You thought this one out." Tired of being on edge, Depth Charge resigned and unhanded Misery's arm. Grinning, he nudged her playfully with his elbow, "Nice effort on trying to swindle me. You almost had me with that promise of yours."

"Tit for tat, precious pet, since you have perked my interest. How did you locate us?"

If Jazz³ prided himself on swagger for the sake of showboating, then the leviathan could preen with the best egotists. "I'm proud of myself over that one. If you didn't catch it, then it means I'm getting good."

"Be plain, Depth Charge," Misery averred. "Tit for tat entails exchange."

His mien never failing, Depth Charge responded, "Slight of hand mix of tritium into his oil."

"Impressive resource." The Decepticon female flexed her dactyls then closed them into a fist one at a time. "However, your radioactive tracer could have been fouled by the chemical lighting."

"So, what do you expect Tass will find at the Patriarch's estate?"

Misery inclined her helm towards the screen where the Patriarch was doing his best attempt to become one with the chair in an effort to get away from Stricture's sinister grin. "A Maximal such as he covets his secrets where he can ensure they will not be exposed to others. A depository will keep records, which he cannot have. His estate will provide answers to why the International Labour Union fixated upon Esoteric specifically."

"For someone as radical as Viper, I couldn't find anything in Esoteric's public records that would incite him to orchestrate an armed kidnapping-is he okay?"

"It is Stricture's fourth time clearing the table. It is a method to portray himself as unstable to conjure fear."

"Yes, but _is he okay_?"

"Certifiable."

"That's . . . not comforting."

"You were postulating . . . ?"

". . . Esoteric shouldn't have been the target of kidnapping. There's nothing in our public records or classified profiles that would make him worth targeting. Aside from him just being an asshole."

"Then perhaps Taciturn will unearth Viper's motivation."

* * *

><p>Narrowly escaping the probing sensors of a transitory drone, Taciturn slipped into the vacant flat that had become the Patriarch's elaborate estate. Stealthily, he navigated the apartment to discern the layout and began formulating possible hiding places for any covert materials. Once he established that there were no listening or surveillance devices, the red and black Decepticon rapped once on his comm. link and continued working.<p>

Pausing in the most center room, Taciturn asked aloud, "Now if I were an egotistical prick, where would I hide my darkest secrets. Where would I be most comfortable, but not overtly apparent . . . ?" Mentally, he crossed off the lavatory, berth, and dining areas. That left the study, which was too obvious, and several drawing rooms. "If I were suspicious evidence, where would I be concealed?"

He wandered halfway down the hallway, paused, and snapped his talons in triumph. "Of course," he began feeling along the paneled walls, searching for potential latches. Several passes later, and he discovered what he was looking for: a latch hidden within the seam of a lower panel, obscuring a meter-wide deedbox.

He withdrew multiple stacks of credit chips, bound together by sequential notes. Next he collected data crystals, memorandums, and a data pad. "Let's see, now," he knelt along the floor, examining the objects he had removed from the case. The elements together did not amount to an escape bag, but they did direct his thoughts to corporate conspiracy.

"Hmm . . . need a power source," Taciturn attached a cable from his hip to the underside of the data pad, interfacing directly with the information. "Time to find out what he's hiding."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Jazz!" Cybershark meandered into the third's office and rounded the desk. "Any idea where everyone's gone?"<p>

Without looking away from his screen, Jazz³ typed furiously while narrowing his optics in concentration. "Well, Dee Cee and Miz are investigating that labour group by doing a bait and trap with the Patriarch. The twins said something about a gas explosion in one of the wards that could be criminal in nature, and I think 'Therapy's secluded herself to the comm. tower while she remodels it."

"Which leaves you and I on active roster in case things go to hell. Glorious."

Jazz³ paused long enough to shrug and raise his visor. His pale blue optics darted from side to side as he read over his notes. Suddenly, he looked away from the screen and stared down the second in command. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"If it's about how giddy Depth Charge got around Misery, then I'd prefer not to answer."

"Well, that's part of it," Jazz³ reacted, taken aback by Cybershark's caustic accusation. "But I'm more concerned with the way everyone's been acting."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for instance . . . something Air-slake said yesterday. I don't think he meant to say it, but it sounded like his father told him something to do with Depth Charge and Misery."

The teal male crossed an arm over his chest and tucked his hand behind his right elbow. Cybershark wiped his fingers over his mouth before clutching at his chin in thought. "Most of the published accounts of his . . . prophesies relate to natural disasters on uninhabited planets."

"But the ones that pertain to well publicized deaths, like the ambassador from Omahik forty stellarcycles ago, they released that one to the Omahikians ten _minutes_ before he died while giving a speech. To _children_."

"I know. It was tasteless. Even my sire agreed," wincing, Cybershark turned and walked across the office in order to not show his emotions to the second, "and he's as emotionless as a door."

"So, yeah, you can understand why what Air-slake said has made me nervous," Jazz³ pushed himself to his feet and stared across the desk at the other Maximal's backside.

"You are . . ." Cybershark hesitated, gripping for the right words. "You are asking me to pry into the minds of our friends."

"I'm," Jazz³ hurriedly modified his word choice, then began again, "I'm only suggesting that if you skim their heads and snag a line of thought that implicates 'something wicked this way comes', then just give me a heads up so I can run my aft off."

* * *

><p>"-and then Duth Pohbai tried to run for the loo, which is how he fell out the window."<p>

"Mm, that is intriguing. All my informants implied he lost his tentacles when he solicited concubines of the Kinytre Mlu."

"No, I think the concubines came when he lost his . . . well, ya get the idea." Tilting his helm against his pauldron, Depth Charge leisurely raised a foot and propped it against the wall behind the monitor. Nonchalantly, he punched Misery in the arm.

In response, she rotated only her helm and leered with slit optics.

Grinning, the leviathan playfully punched her a second time. When it became apparent that the female Decepticon had no intent of reciprocating the action, Depth Charge raised his hands in defeat. "When's your boy Tass getting back?"

Misery inclined her helm to the clock above the monitor and recumbed. "When he is certain no one has followed him, my left hand will descend."

Quizzically, the chief of security soured his face and sucked in his lower lip. With the anxiety bubbling in the pit of his spark from the impending arrival of Taciturn, Depth Charge rubbed his foot against the wall, toeing a rivet. "If this pans out the repercussions from the High Council could be overwhelming. You'd have to disappear after just one mission here."

"It is not inconceivable, nor an inconvenience. I am accustomed to disappearing."

"That's unfortunate," said Depth Charge, regret welling at the back of his throat.

"Feh, sympathy is a priori and unnecessary. I have survived for aeons through evasion and subterfuge. If my immortality is any indication, then I will continue to survive so long as . . ."

"So long as you don't end up like Xyston? Trapped in some cage and made into a lab rat?"

Before the conversation had a chance to continue, the door opened. Taciturn wandered in, opened his subspace, and in a single motion withdrew the contents of Esoteric's deedbox. The red and black Decepticon acknowledged his captain, then turned to the Maximal. He nodded, "Depth Charge."

"Tass," the leviathan tipped his helm, then motioned to the data crystals and the data pad. "What's this?"

Taciturn looked to Misery for direction. Receiving a nod of approval, the third then pulled up a steel crate to serve as his seat. Plopping upon its surface, Taciturn crossed his legs and held the data pad in his lap like a trophy. "It would seem the Patriarch is not quite an arriviste, but is most certainly a vulgarian. I present to you first, his accounts - or rather, his public accounts."

His talons pressed against the screen and enlarged the information, displaying various account numbers paired with intimidating lines of currency. "What you see here is a net worth of four-point-seven quintillion. Not overtly rich, but well in the black. But when you compare it to this . . ." Taciturn readjusted the screen, then presented numbers that could have eaten the quintillion three times over. "These are his grey accounts. A net worth of seventeen-point-two novemdecillion."

"Primus, how'd he get so rich?" Depth Charge asked, leaning forward to inspect the figures. "I knew there was money in mining, but this is ridiculous."

"It is obvious," Misery pointed to the screen. "What you see in the public accounts - that is money accrued from mining. What is in the grey accounts - that is comprised of corporate theft."

"Exactly," Taciturn nodded. To Depth Charge, he continued, "I've traced nearly everything in the grey account. Most of it comes from syphoning corporate funds for the past two-hundred stellarcycles. Money nicked from just about every economical transaction you can imagine."

The Maximal considered it momentarily, then gestured for the Decepticon to continue.

"As we suspected," he opened a corresponding file on the data pad, loaded the information to the screen, and indicated to it as well. "He's been financing TRUNDLE's research into the Protoform Project. His most recent transactions to the company align with each of his visits to the facility here on Omicron."

"So he's preparing to acclimate himself to TRUNDLE in order to gain the best advantage. The bastard's trying to buy immortality."

While Depth Charge's hands clenched into fists, Misery suggested, "Esoteric desires to live indefinite as the Autobots and Decepticons of old. Fuel and subsequent repairs maintained our sparks, but this-" Misery indicated to her chest where her spark dwelt "-is eternal. No power in the universe to compete with his greed if he obtained the secret."

Pressure built behind his optics, causing Depth Charge to pinch at his brow. "Misery, I can't condone holding the Patriarch here for much longer if ya can't produce evidence that would vindicate Viper's actions."

"Oh, but let me continue," Taciturn sneered, jerking the leviathan's focus back to the data pad. "Money is one thing, but I found whitewashed documents, too."

As the third scrolled through information on the screen, Depth Charge batted his hand away and grabbed at the pad. He said, "It'll be easier if I just look for myself."

Misery waved off Taciturn when he shot her an offended look. "Precious pet, I suggest you permit Taciturn to continue. He has thoroughly researched the Patriarch in this matter. Do not discard him so rashly."

Looking over the rim of the data pad, he acceded, "Fine. You talk, I'll read. It'll speed things up."

"Very well," the Decepticon climbed to his feet and laced his talons together in contemplation as he meandered around the room. "Document three-two-point-one, subheading _Genesis_ details the corporate takeover of the Tyr Corporation using a permutation of employees. Document seven-nine-point-nine, subheading _Salruw_ details a buyout of Foc Efe and its subsidiary Veneg Cee-Dee-Are, both of which support the medical research of the Nitamiv Consortium of the Sablef Nimmo. Document one-one-six-point-seven details the purchase and resale of barbiturates from Furtado Industries of the _Imperio Nuevo de España_ . . ."

As Depth Charge reached the second of the aforementioned documents, he realized with great embarrassment that Taciturn was thoroughly familiar with the information and was, out of courtesy, skipping ahead to the good parts. Handing off the data pad to Misery, who in turn sat it off to the side, the Maximal draped his arms across his lap while he inclined to the pacing Decepticon. Giving him his undivided attention, Depth Charge rounded his pauldrons and said, "Okay. Still waiting to be impressed."

Taciturn shot him a deplorable look, all the while reciting paragraph headings and summaries, "-three-seven-eight-point-four, subheading _Court Seal_ details the bribe and subsequent blackmail of forty-six supreme court justices of the United Colonies of New America. Document nine-nine-three-one-point-five, subheading _Tasmos_ details the bribe and blackmail of fourteen employees of Praxus-Delta Inquests. Document nine-nine-five-"

"Wait!"

Depth Charge rose suddenly, leaned across Misery's lap, and fetched the data pad from the floor. Before raising up, he flicked a glance over his pauldron and gave the female Decepticon the most fulsome smile he could manage. Much to his displeasure, she did not reciprocate his expression.

Returning to task after mumbling under his breath, the chief of security took up root once more on the settee. "That last one, what was the document number?"

"Nine-nine-five-"

"The one _before_ that one."

"As rude as you've been, I _should_ be a smartass and quote you nine-nine-four -interrupt me again and I'll break your face- but I'll concede to my captain's wishes and tell you it was document nine-nine-three-one-point-five, subheading _Tasmos_."

Misery raised an eye arch to Depth Charge's questionable haste, "You have made a discovery?"

"Not yet," he admitted, "but that name sounded so familiar."

"Is Tasmos not a planet from the Virgo Supercluster?" Misery probed.

"It is, but . . ." Depth Charge drew up a secondary display on the reverse side of the data pad. What was displayed was an advert for a colonial research facility. "Tasmos Ess-You-Are Nuclear Nanomaterials and Biochemical Research is a joint Cybertronian-Cloran consumer research facility based out of Tasmos. They used to have a contract with Omicron for the mining rights before I came here. My predecessor terminated their contract after the Gonongam mining disaster outta Ward Nine."

"Gonongam?" Taciturn and Misery exchanged puzzled glances, blinked several times, then Misery supplied, "No publication was submitted to the Intergalactic Disaster Compendium."

"Agreed," Taciturn said. "I read everything published by the Intergalactic Council. I'd have remembered a mining disaster involving Cybertronians."

"It was before I got here, so I don't have all the details," the Maximal combed the document, dactyls analyzing the information in collusion with his optics. "But it happened back-" mentally, he completed the thought as: _when I was Nainsook_; verbally, he corrected himself to say "-_before_ I was built. There were three-thousand five hundred thirty-three miners who died in the explosion. Biggest mining disaster in modern history."

Exchanging glances once more, the Decepticons shared the same thought. Tentatively, Misery tried to direct the leviathan's attention away from the document. "Depth Charge, precious pet, have you surmised what we have?"

With what seemed to them as obliviousness, the chief of security scanned the document with narrowed optics and concentration unbroken. Twice more, Misery called his name in effort to coax him into the first-class caravan of hers and Taciturn's train of thought. "Depth Charge," she grasped the Maximal's chin and jerked his face towards hers. A mix of emotions had manifested across his face, and Misery recognized all of them. "Calm yourself, precious pet. Wield your wrath with exactitude, else you may overlook the evidence presented."

"Miz," he whispered slowly, voice deepening with the physical effort to restrain himself, "my mind's tryin' to make sense of this but I don't think my brain wants to accept it."

"It is the rationale of Maximals," she insinuated, thumb tapping his chin once with minimal force. "You must accept the facts presented."

"Hey!" Taciturn hissed, jerking the other's attention upon himself. He jabbed a black talon to the side of his helm for emphasis, "Use your head, boy! The Patriarch obviously blackmailed Praxus-Delta Inquests so he could gain from the expulsion of Tasmos."

"Tass," there was a faint pop as the frame of the data pad cracked in his grip. Depth Charge dropped it to the table before he broke it further. He began, "You read the document. You tell me you didn't read the date on the file."

Furtively, Taciturn ran over the mental file he had created. "It was from fifteen stellarcycles ago. Why does the date matter?"

"Because, smartass, the date on the file is marked a month before the explosion."

The red and black Decepticon suddenly felt his spark pulsing in his audios. The thunderous drumming deafened him as his optics darted from side to side - his entire conjecture had been turned on its side! "Esoteric bribed the investigators _before_ the explosion. That explains why nothing was filed with the Compendium. The explosion was labeled natural disaster, but the deaths of the miners were too high a price that your predecessor had to hold Tasmos accountable and terminate their contract. The Patriarch must've had the investigators determine natural disaster, only to then have them withhold the reports to the Intergalactic Council."

"Had the Council received those reports, there would have been an independent investigation," Misery finished. "The Intergalactic Council would have discovered Esoteric's guilt and filed criminal charges."

Depth Charge was halfway to the door of Stricture's impromptu interrogation room before Misery and Taciturn had jumped the upturned lounge and tackled him to the floor. As he struggled to get free, Misery palmed his helm into the ground and uttered in his audios, "Shoulder your fury, Depth Charge. Otherwise you will compromise this operation."

"The bastard's responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent miners. I'm gonna ki-"

"_Control yourself_!" Misery roared, pressing the length of her body along his for added leverage. "Listen to me," she whispered, trying to force him to settle in his rage, "you kill Esoteric, and you are left to conceal another crime."

"The bastard's dirty," he struggled. Halfheartedly, he realized that struggling against two bots twisting his arms in fulcrum was inescapable. "He's a rich asshole. No way they'll put him away for murder."

"Depth Charge, if you restrain yourself, I can offer an alternative." Cautiously, slowly, Misery released her hold on the Maximal and motioned to Taciturn to do the same. Climbing to their feet, the Decepticons backed away and gave him room to roll upon his posterior.

"What," he huffed and adjusted his pauldrons before erecting himself, "do ya have in mind?"

Misery oscillated once to her third, then turned back to Depth Charge. Her face barren and with lips unmoving, the blue and black Decepticon imparted, "The guilt extends beyond the Patriarch. The employees of Praxus-Delta Inquests are accessories to this mass murder."

"Say it, Misery," he grunted.

Watching his fists alternate between clenching and unclenching as a means to calm himself, Misery continued, "The Patriarch believes me dead."

"_Say it_."

"Your natural inclination - warrants, arrests, trials, convictions - you understand these procedures would be ignored due to the Patriarch's wealth. What you learnt of the High Council's ambivalence has soiled your perspectives." She recognized the unhinged, detached glint in his optics for what it was: Depth Charge was fading into the static of sociopaths. "Depth Charge, you cannot allow yourself to be tainted by lawful vengeance."

"You're young," Taciturn interjected when he saw the Maximal was about to lose his temper. "Misery, Stricture, and I have millions of years experience with covert operations. Keep your hands clean this time. Let us do your dirty work."

"Why?" he narrowed his optics. "I wouldn't be a leader if I'm not willing to do my own dirty work."

"You must learn delegation, precious pet." Misery walked to him and put her icy dactyls against his chest. "Trust me in this matter. It would benefit you to charge the outcome of this operation to my squadron and myself."

He eyed her suspiciously, all the while working to level himself. It was becoming surprisingly easy to with the white noise invading his thoughts. "You want me to untie your hands."

"Yes," Misery nodded. "If it comforts you, a specific parameter is applicable."

"Explain," he said.

She complied, "If you desire, I shall limit the deaths to those involved with the murder and subsequent cover-up of the miners' deaths."

The leviathan wiped a hand over his face, glanced to the monitor that showed Stricture's interrogation of the Patriarch, and said, "You kill the Patriarch. You kill him and anyone involved in the deaths of the miners."

"Of course," Misery walked past him to the door of the interrogation room. Before entering, she shot a look over her pauldron to her third. Whereas some might celebrate success with a smile, the female Decepticon played her face with a minute twitch at the corner of her optic. Not quite a blink, not quite a twitch, but the implication was there. A victory had been had.

* * *

><p><em>~"Air-slake, I thought you should know that I got a response from my grandsire,"~<em> Shock Therapy's hand touched at something off screen that he couldn't see, most likely fingering a display of the information she had received. _~"The tag belonged to Scrapper, one of the Constructicons granted amnesty after the war."~_

"A-are you serious?" He lurched forward, fingers splaying out on either side of his monitor. "Scrapper was here?" Behind him, Jazz³ and Cybershark exchanged glances.

She nodded, _~"So it would seem. The tag was due to transmit its beacon in four hours time. When it does not transmit, we'll have Imperial Peace Marshalls bearing down on us for an investigation."~_

"The last thing we need here is a group of marshalls running around making our jobs more difficult. Especially with this operation going on," Cybershark shouldered his way into the camera's view. Tilting his helm to the side, Cybershark made the call. " 'Therapy, I want you to contact Lio Convoy with the Marshalls and let him know Scrapper died while squatting in an abandoned warehouse. Tell him our results were conclusive and that we'll be sending him the remains that we recovered."

_~"I understand."~_

Severing the transmission, the four males exchanged worried glances. Jazz³ was the first to speak, "You think it'll be enough to keep the marshalls off our back?"

"I hope so. Otherwise we won't be able to complete this sting," Cybershark drummed his fingers on the desk where Air Lock sat. "What's your opinion? I know we all think the Patriarch is dirty, but do you think we'll be able to find anything pertinent?"

" 'Lock's not the one ya should ask," interrupted Depth Charge. He stepped into the office with Misery following closely at his side. After Misery tossed the data pad into Cybershark's waiting hands, the chief of security went on, "The Patriarch confessed to the deaths of the miners from the Gonongam disaster."

Blank, doe-eyed faces came first, then after reason absconded with composure and eloped, voices filled the room in uproar.

"What?"

"You can't be serious!"

"How's that possible?"

"Cy', play the video, would ya?" Depth Charge huddled into the sanctity of the nearest chair. The weight of his actions from the day pinched at his bridge much as his fingers did, the terrible memory worrying at the front of his helm. To himself, he continued the charade, "I'm just glad we got the damn thing on camera."

Fiddling once with the data pad between his hands, Cybershark drew up the video, attached it via cable to the larger monitors, and engaged the recording.

_The camera caught a shadow that closely resembled Misery's frame, indicated only by the silhouette of the wings. The voice off-screen, however, unquestioningly belonged to Depth Charge. "It's time ya talked. Twice now these bastards've come after you. Why do they keep comin' at you, Eso'? What is it you've got that they want?"_

_The Patriarch, who the camera was focused upon, sat unchained with his palms flat upon the table. Unknown to anyone outside of that room, Misery controlled the physical actions of the Patriarch with her magneticus while Taciturn had spliced in recordings taken from a separate conversation. "The Gonongam disaster," he began. "It wasn't an accident. The proof on these data crystals shows that the equipment was sabotaged." The image jumped, a small bit of static flaring from side to side to cover a third of the screen. The quality of the recording shimmered to black and white, to grey and white, then returned bits of colour where they ought to be._

"What's that . . . ?" Cybershark gulped, air wheezing past predatory teeth. "What's wrong with the footage?"

Depth Charge flicked solemn, bloody eyes to his second. "It'll be on there in a moment. We almost lost the camera."

In unison, the males continued the film. Aside to herself, Misery flowed through the office, examining each one in turn as they observed the recording. She was looking for reactions, judging not for herself but for the chief of security the believability of the video.

_"What the hell? You knew something about that and didn't tell anyone?" Depth Charge moved into the camera's line of sight, fist slamming upon the table in front of the Patriarch. The businessman yelped and withdrew his hands, moving them stiffly up to guard his face. In return, the leviathan spat, "Answer me, you bastard!"_

_"It wasn't just me," cowered the Patriarch. "There were others. The contracts that we gained when Omicron severed ties with Tasmos increased profit margins exponentially." Seriously, Esoteric calmed himself and retorted, "We all stood to gain. Including your predecessor."_

_"That doesn't make it right!" Depth Charge curdled, fists hammering again into the table, this time leaving dints._

_"No, it doesn't," eyes wide and fear-filled, the Patriarch fished a hand under the table, gripped hold of an energon dagger, and in the span of a nanoclick plunged it into his spark chamber. The resulting explosion cascaded in all directions, knocking the leviathan off his feet and out of vision of the camera, the least of which exploded in a hail of shrapnel that left the image black._

"Shit . . ." Jazz³ spoke first.

"I wasn't expecting . . ." Air-slake gaped, tried his mouth a second time, then settled for: "Well, fuck."

"Pregnant words," Air Lock elbowed his twin.

"I think what you mean is 'poignant'," the twin rebuked, fingers making air quotes for emphasis.

"Pregnant, poignant, they're both arousing," shrugged the older brother.

"_Enough_," Depth Charge exhaled, stretching himself in the seat. "There's barely a scrap of 'im left on the walls to clean up and I think we all know this video isn't gonna go well with the High Council."

Cybershark turned from Depth Charge to Misery, sniffed the air once, then looked back to his commanding officer. He chose his words carefully, "So he killed himself to keep from being sentenced?"

"Yeah," the blue and purple Maximal leaned forward, wrung his hands before standing, then said, "I guess he thought we wouldn't convict him posthumously. Don't know about the rest of you, but I'll drag his name through the sludge if I have to. Dead or alive, he's gotta hang for Gonongam."

"What'd'ya need us to do?" Air Lock took charge, wading into the thick of the other Maximals and Autobot-sired. Something his father once said gnawed at his mind, encouraging him into agreement. _And when twisted words are spoken, security will be broken_. "I'm with ya, chief. If you need kerosene, a deep hole, whatever - I'll happily fetch so long as I can leak on the bastard's grave."

Jazz³ raised an eye arch, then added, "Pretty much what he said, but I just wanna make sure the miners see reparations for Gonongam. There's a handful of 'em still workin' the other mines, even though they've got contaminated sparks."

"Agreed," Air-slake jabbed at his twin. "Sorry, as much as I'd love to see you get sloshed and piss on the remains, I agree more with Jazz this time."

Air Lock shrugged nonchalantly, "No offense taken."

"Cyba?" Depth Charge probed hesitantly, "you with us on this?"

"I am," he sniffed again at the air, the slits along his face widening systematically with each inhale. "I take it the drones are patrolling the grid so no one wanders into wherever you were keeping the Patriarch?"

"Yeah. Gonna need some-"

"Ground control," Jazz³ chuckled.

"To Major Tom?" Air-slake offered, surprise and confusion muddying his face.

Depth Charge asked, "Are you volunteering?"

"Sir," the two saluted humourously.

"At ease, soldiers," Depth Charge raised a brow, then indicated with his helm to the door. "Jazz, 'Slake. Go secure the scene. 'Lock, can I trust you to do damage control?"

"You mean I get to play 'No comment' and defer silly business associates with my shining personality?"

"O . . .-kay. Good point. 'Slake, _you_ do damage control, Jazz take 'Lock to secure the grid."

Snorting, the second in command rambled around the others and returned to the video. "How do you want me to deal with this?"

As the other three males danced off to complete their duties, Depth Charge considered for a moment bringing Cybershark up to speed on the day's events. Did he risk everything on their friendship and tell him of how Misery and Depth Charge conspired against the Patriarch? Did he tell Cybershark of how Misery used her magneticus to manipulate Esoteric into becoming a felo-de-se for the camera?

"Cyba, I need you to . . ." the leviathan never completed his sentence. Instead, he sought council with Misery, asking her with his eyes how he should direct his second in command.

"Depth Charge," Misery approached, cupped the side of the Maximal's face, and forced their crimson optics to meet, "perhaps you should notify Magistrate Heinrad. He is head of the judicial assembly, is he not? While you attend to the verbal needs of the Council, I see it prudent for Cybershark and I to evaluate the footage and compose the reports."

There was no doubt in his mind that the Bi-Partate Committee for State Affairs would want reports to satiate their need for conclusive evidence. But even while he nodded in agreement with Misery, Depth Charge eyed his second in command with consternation.

Tension crept between his shoulders. He was now acutely aware that Misery had sensed the hesitation and suspicion in Cybershark's actions. Even as the other watched them, sniffing at the air like their secret was tangible and permeating, a haunting feeling entered his mind: what would the universe be like without his friend?

Having agreed prior to their return, the female Decepticon implied private conversations with any of the crew who expressed the slightest hesitation over the validity of the video. If Misery had even the tiniest indication that Cybershark might not go along with the cover story . . . Depth Charge dreaded to think of what she might do to convince Cybershark otherwise.

"Depth Charge, do not fret," Misery coaxed, leading him seductively by the arm and to the door. Tension began to ease from his body as she continued, "Cybershark and I shall have the reports ready for submission. Simply call for us when you have completed your report to Heinrad." After shoving the chief of security out of the office and locking the door after him, the black and blue female spun to find the tip of Cybershark's snout millimeters from her face.

Inhaling just above her blue lips, the teal Maximal flared his sensors once more. If she had been organic in anyway, the second might have given her a complex. Instead of taking offense, Misery gripped both sides of the Maximal's helm and jerked their faces together. Eyes widening in surprise, Cybershark nearly fell over himself in effort to draw away, but the grip on his helm was paralyzing.

In fact, Misery's two thumbs on his nose had triggered a primitive, tonic immobility that froze him physically. "What . . . how . . . ?" he grunted, mouth unmoving as the rest of his body deactivated to the sensation. In a fit of sheer panic, hundreds of microscopic pores on Cybershark's snout dilated and became a bridge between their two minds.

_The city was burning. Thousands of corpses laid charred and dismembered, heaped and piled one upon the next at the foot of the massive Cybertronian. The combined stench of mech fluid, energon, and oil penetrated his olfactory sensors. Blackened smoke tainted by embers rose higher and higher into the sky, reflecting the light from the flames back down upon the devastated city, leaving Cybershark unable to describe the Cybertronian's face save for his equally crimson optics._

_Instincts pumped through him, ushering him towards predatory thoughts. So much mech fluid, so much food-_

_Blood was everywhere. It danced and dissipated like red smoke, though it was suspended in water. The density of the tank pressed in against his placoid scales, reminiscent of the ocean's strength. Beside him, his brothers, tanned olive-green and dark grey-brown from their last venture out to sea with their father on holiday, tore the rind off the fresh salmon that their father had just dumped into the tank._

_Outstretching a webbed hand, the eldest of the three plucked a fleeting fish and drew it to his mouth. While his rows of serrated teeth punctured the dainty fish, he turned to the tank's window and watched his father, a reasonably-sized hammerhead with a narrowing brow and slender shoulders, discussing a lab expenditure with a robot roughly the same height. Though he wasn't familiar with the language the two were speaking, Mok understood his father's body language as being jovial._

_For minutes, the two went on laughing and joking, and once his father even tapped on the glass and waved to Mok and his younger brothers who were playfully chasing after their breakfast. Sniffing at the blood distilling in the water around his nostrils, Mok dreamed of the day he would go out to the deep waters for a hunt unsupervised instead of being quarantined to the tide pools._

_But then his thoughts were interrupted when it appeared the tank had turned from a shadowed blue to fiery red. At first he though his brothers had bitten into fish somewhere close to him, but when he turned to look for them he felt the draw of the water forcing him to one side of the tank. Hastily, he tried to swim, webbed hands and feet and tail all thrashing with straining effort, only to succumb to rush for the left side of the tank. The next thing he knew, he was being bashed against the side of the tank as rapid waters forced him out, slivers of broken acrylic cutting him from caudal fin to snout._

"Fascinating," Misery preened, dropping the labouring second in command to his knees. "Your actions suggested a connection to the evolved sharks of mu Ara A, but to know you are one of them given Cybertronian form is astounding."

Breathing heavily and clambering away from her for the nearest chair, Cybershark reeled from side to side, trying to refrain from tearing into things. There was a new . . . _freshness_ to the room that transpired against him, enticing him to sniff after individual items and taste their particular metals. "You weren't," he hissed, finding his voice strained and unnerved by the influx of new, vulnerable indicators. "You weren't supposed to see me like that."

"Cybershark, do not think of yourself as an abomination," she approached him, gauntlets gesturing to placate. "You were once a shark of flesh, but now you are a shark of metal. I am intrigued. How did you survive such a procedure."

"Very carefully," he huffed. "Very luckily."

"Cybershark," Misery knelt next to the larger Maximal, offering the palm of her gauntlet just below his face. "I have seen what you are, and you have spied what I am."

"I didn't," despite his blatant attempts to lie to himself, to deny what he had seen, Cybershark suspired the female Decepticon's essence into his nostrils. Nuzzling into her hand, he breathed in metal and mech fluid and _life_. Her body was thriving with nanites, each reaching out in response to his electroreception. "I can smell you, Misery. You're different than the others."

Coercively, Misery slid her hand over the teal Maximal's face, rubbing her fingers across the slope between his optics. "Cybershark, you are a predator. You hunt by instinct. You devour the weak and the wounded. I have no doubts you read my mind. You have only to make sense of what you saw. Understand that I accept you for what you are and what you will always be."

"I'm a . . ." his optics widened and white rings dilated to focus upon Misery's face. Peering around her hand, he asked, "I'm a shark, how can you accept me as a Cybertronian when I used to be of flesh and blood?"

"Because," she smiled tenderly, like a mother explaining that no matter how many faults her child may have, she will always love him - or in this case, as a manipulator of a self-doubting individual, "you are not a milquetoast. You are unique - virile. Beautiful in every carnivorous action. Abide by me, Cybershark. Swear fealty to the Decepticons, and you shall never have cause to believe yourself anything other than a predator."

"I . . ." He craned his neck, ran his tongue over what lips he had, and considered her offer. From what he had seen of her past, Misery had accepted Xyston despite his origins. Would Cybershark be any different to her?

Finally, he asked, "What would you have of me?"


	5. The Truth Beneath the Rose

_Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission._

_**Disclaimer:**__ No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified._

_**Dedications:**__ Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favourites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better._

_**Author's notes:**__ This chapter didn't exist the first time around. To be honest, some of the characters have evolved over the 10 year writing process, which lead someone *cough*Air Lock*cough* to hijacked the story and give his own account of things as they developed._

_If I had to qualify this chapter, I would say its here to give insight into some of the history of the Cybertronians and to critique on the current Maximal regime. It's fun, but it's also depressing. Also, I apologize if some of the font does not translate correctly for your computers - but I suppose that's for the best. Some of what they say is meant to be incomprehensible to humans._

* * *

><p><strong>Epoch:<strong>

**The Truth Beneath the Rose**

**Joshin Yasha** (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

* * *

><p>As far as Stricture was concerned, there was no trace that would lead to Taciturn and himself for their involvement in the Patriarch's death. But more importantly, with Misery working both sides against the middle (like she was so fond of doing) there was no chance of Depth Charge's crew stumbling upon the two Decepticons either.<p>

But for Taciturn, there was the gnawing thought that the chief of security was privileged to much more of their strategy than he should be - after all, in a former life, the Maximal had worked with them and glimpsed what they could do. The leviathan knew intimate facts of their operation - slag, he knew they still had the _**Cenotaph**_ for Primus's sake. Were it not contradictory to Misery's orders, the red and black male would have silenced the boy a long time ago. _But!_ he thought, _Misery still has use for that boy._

And that thought alone was enough to shake his nerves. Whatever she had planned for that Maximal, well . . . Taciturn didn't want to imagine the possibilities. He'd known her for far too long to ponder the boy's fate.

Stricture, on the other hand, had so many thoughts regarding the Maximal that it was beginning to make Taciturn's head pound. "If I gutted him, do you think Misery would notice?"

"Ughh," Taciturn refrained, face drawing into a sneer, "for the last time, yes. She would notice. She would _definitely notice._"

"What about his face?"

"Stricture-really? We've been over this. _Yes_. She would notice."

"What about half his face?"

"Stricture," the black and red Decepticon halted, grabbed his wingmate by the wrist, and directed his attention to the door at the end of the hall. "You and I both think that the boy is a loose end. With some convincing, Misery will eventually discard him. We have only to act as we always have, and give her proof. For now, you and I know our role in this game of chess. We must achieve fianchetto tonight, lest the knights move into position."

"One of these days, Tass," Stricture smirked, nudging his partner playfully, "I'm going to spend the night narrating a chess match to you."

Taciturn returned the grin and released his hold upon his wingmate, "I would like that."

"Come," the second patted the other's shoulder affectionately, "while I feel the urge to vent my frustrations, I know what we must do. I promise to henceforth behave."

The manager of the office later greeted them in private chambers. His reaction was less than thrilled - most scientists were between one to three meters in height, whereas soldiers were more varied based upon function. Taciturn and Stricture were on the high end of the spectrum - they towered over the manager by at least four meters. To say he was having difficulty maintaining composure would be an understatement.

"Gentlemen," the manager adjusted himself, trying to keep himself from buckling under the gaze of the two Decepticons. "When I heard Tyr Corp. was sending new management, I had no idea that you would be, well . . . I apologize, but you seem quite out of place here."

Taciturn looked himself over then reclined into his chair. "My companion and I are both old. We tried once to have smaller bodies, but I'm afraid we just couldn't adjust."

"Oh, how dreadfully rude of me. I am sorry if I offended. I only meant that we're not accustomed to scientists such as yourselves!"

Stricture fanned a cunning grin. Sharing a laugh that Taciturn remembered from the last time the silver and gold flyer decapitated and dismembered an Autobot, Stricture said, "We elders like to keep close to our old ways. Now, before we delay, down to business . . ." He then drew his gun.

* * *

><p>"<em>That<em>," Cybershark began, "is one helluva plan."

Misery cocked her helm to the side, "Is it too difficult for you to accomplish this task?"

He nodded, almost absently. Baying a domesticated droid into retreat, the teal Maximal hissed, "It might be a little hard without cause. Any chance you can stir up some trouble?"

"There are options to be exercised," she answered, narrowing her left eye at his trivial, almost doggish pursuit of the cleaning unit.

Instead of speculating further, she went to the nearest seat in the safe house that they had retreated to. Not unlike the one Depth Charge had arranged for her, this one had multiple rooms, but also had the added feature of remaining unknown to the security chief.

Propping her legs atop the table, Misery surmised, "Depth Charge will be a complication once he discerns my true goal. A distraction is prudent. Arrangements can be made with other contacts to create a believable diversion."

Cybershark ran his tongue over rows upon rows of predatory teeth. A glint of satisfaction ignited in his optics as he picked a sliver of the droid from his mouth. Contrary to the previous topic of their conversation, he said, "I told Depth Charge my secret when we were in the academy. We trusted each other because no one else trusted us. Play to his need to trust you, Misery."

"Noted." Misery extended a hand to the teal Maximal, who took it willingly and joined her upon the lounge. The Decepticon female preened and patted the male on the snout once he was close enough, "You possess important notions now. Use them to manipulate the boy."

Curling up next to her, Cybershark nuzzled his helm into Misery's lap and sniffed at her hand. "Regression to our former conversation would be prudent."

The female Decepticon eyed him speculatively, "Control your inclinations to emulate my speech patterns. Depth Charge is already suspicious of my interest in you. If you give him further reservations, my plans could be crippled." Misery vice gripped her fingers around the Maximal's muzzle, exerted minimal pressure, and jerked him so their eyes were locked. "Prove your worth to me in this endeavour, and I will recrudesce to admit you to my squadron."

Putting himself between Misery and the table, Cybershark knelt and gathered her legs within his arms possessively. Resting his chin into her lap, the teal male upturned his crimson optics and flicked his tongue out suggestively. "I can prove my worth in so many ways, but for this, I promise you: Depth Charge will not interfere your plans."

* * *

><p>Reclining, the chief of security shook his helm from side to side, cracking joints that had grown stiff for the duration of his exchange with the magistrate. The conversation had covered everything from the Patriarch's involvement with the Gonongam mining disaster to the memorandum Heinrad had received regarding the apparent death of Scrapper. Despite their equal exhaustion, it even went so far as to include the upcoming Galactic Cup. Who knew Heinrad could talk so much about sports?<p>

Wiping a hand over his brow, Depth Charge rose and meandered to the locked cabinet of his office. He typed in a code and replaced his diversionary frequency scanner into the confines, then checked his primary tracer that he kept stored on his person. Initial scans yielded no surveillance equipment, but that didn't stop him from activating his secondary and tertiary dampeners. At least he and the magistrate were able to have a conversation without prying audios listening in.

"Hey boss," calling from the doorway, the third in command stepped into the room, "when was the last time you recharged?" Jazz³ crossed the room and scooped a canister of oil from next to the window that overlooked Ward One. While opening the container, he continued, "My last count had you clocked in for a legitimate rest cycle before the Patriarch got back. That's been what? Four days?"

"Two. I slept," he grabbed his own canister and returned to his desk. He refrained from mentally leaping to his euphoric stint with the black and blue female. "It was an orn ago. After the first attempt on the Patriarch's life."

"Yeah, I don't get that," the third stated. He looked a question in Depth Charge's general direction, but the comment that followed held too much cynicism to imply ignorance. "Seems to me that a well-off business bot like Esoteric would've been able to buy his way out of a conviction if it really came down to it. Doesn't seem logical for the Patriarch to kill himself."

Pinching at his brow, the leviathan rocked from side to side in his chair, reflecting over his actions from the past days. He should know better, he really should, but it seemed that every time Misery came around he lost all sense of self-restraint.

As for Jazz³, he could come clean, admit everything, tell his third that the suicide of the Patriarch was staged - but to do so would cost him more than it would Misery. She could disappear - quite literally if Stricture got involved.

But for Depth Charge to admit involvement in murder and conspiracy, he would stand trial before the High Council in place of the Patriarch, be stripped of his post, and sentenced to reformatting to better his commitment to society.

And he _really_ didn't want to be converted into a protoform anytime soon.

"I know. It's what Heinrad and I were talkin' about - well, that, and whether the Chasers are gonna win the cup this stellarcycle. Truth be told, I think the bastard just didn't want to lose face." And that was somewhat true - Esoteric had begged Misery to spare his face before he'd been silenced.

The third narrowed his optics in question, "You think they would have reprogrammed him?"

"Yeah, Heinrad said they would've. Somethin' this big wouldn't've gone unpunished as far as he's concerned. He probably could've swung the vote."

Jazz³ nodded, took a sip from his container, then said, "Heinrad does curry a lot of favour. You can't help but like the guy." He paused before shaking himself clean. "I dunno, maybe I'm just on edge and lookin' for trouble."

"I think we could all stand to have a break," Depth Charge mumbled.

"Oh, yes, please," Air-slake said from the door. Entering the chief's office, he too grabbed a container and took a seat. "I think my face is stuck in a permanent frown from talking to all Esoteric's associates. I could really use some Are-an'-Are."

Jazz³ raised a hand and sang, "I second that emotion." Grinning, he offered his half-consumed chalice to the air, "Come on, boss-bot. We could all use the downtime. Let's haul in the second-string and let them run plays for the next quarter while we drink to the night."

"And to the miners," the red and white jet added. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! I even know this great place down in Six!" he wailed, much to the disgraced masculinity of the others. "I'll call 'Lock and let 'im know!"

"Where is 'Lock, anyway?" Depth Charge eyed Jazz³ speculatively.

In return, the black and white jet grinned lopsidedly and submitted his gauntlets in supplication. "Oh, come on. It's not nearly as fun if I _don't_ leave him unsupervised."

Palming his face, the leviathan groaned. "For the love of Primus and all that is holy, someone get his ass in here before I have another international incident to clean up."

* * *

><p>"Have you seen the little piggies  crawling in the dirt / and for all the little piggies / life is getting worse," cantillated the older of the twins. From his perch atop the warehouse that separated the masses from the crime scene, Air Lock stumbled from edge to edge of the spire to oversee the rotation of drones below.

Thus far, none of the citizens had wandered close to the markers. They all appeared to be uncaring despite the investigator shuttles parked below outside the warehouse loading zone. Even more surprising was that they had all avoided the news crews that had set up shop at the corner of the scene. Had Air Lock been among the crowd, he'd have been waving to the cameras and doing as many obnoxious things he could to get their attention.

Continuing a mental version of the song, he switched to another vantage point. It seemed odd to him that Depth Charge had split the pair in their duties, but under the circumstances it had allowed him time to think.

More importantly, it gave him time to soliloquize:

_My brother could probably tell you the day and jerk the time outta his ass. I'll just stick with recording number seven-hundred-ninety-two. Makes it easier for me. Don't know if it'll matter in the long run. Before you ask - no, this is not another hark on _Breaking Limitation, _though that show could suck the pavement off the tarmac._

_I know what's coming._

_The timing's all lined up. Misery's arrival. The Constructicon. The Patriarch's suicide. It's all like Dad said it would be - the imagineer, the engineer, and the benefactor. But who's to benefit when the patron has paid and the engineer's designs are completed?_

_Always and forever the one who publicized the idea. It's exactly why Walt always got the credit._

_Primus, that's a lot of media down there . . . damnit, that was recorded wasn't it?_

_Oh, for Primus's sake . . ._ He discontinued his monolog and rapped at his comm. link. "This is your eyes in the sky, reporting from Omicron's downtown depot where the cleanup is unhindered and I'm staying out of trouble," Air Lock mused after shutting off his internal log. Retroactively, he asked, "Are you calling to check on me or the crime scene?"

_~"Neither,"~ Jazz³ huffed, ~"we're calling to let you know that Cathode and his crew are stepping up tonight. You've got three quarteces to meet us down in Six at the club."~_

"I'm so there." Having spotted his replacements careening up the street and transforming along the barriers, Air Lock chuckled. Silencing his comm. link, the jet's face slackened before his brow furrowed in thought. _Get it together. Can't poker my face if I'm all depressed . . ._

* * *

><p>Gathered at the secondary bulkhead to Ward Six, Depth Charge, his third, and the twins patiently awaited the arrival of the rest of their party. "Did anyone think to invite Shock Therapy?" Jazz³ asked, simultaneously eyeing the backside of a passing female.<p>

"I did," Air-slake tore his attention from his twin long enough to answer. "She declined. Said she's still reworking the monitors to her satisfaction." Refocusing upon his brother, Air-slake interlaced the talons of their hands and connected the interlink between them, sharing their most recent encounters.

"I suspect she just wants to be left alone," the third admitted, stepping closer to the chief of security so as not to be overheard. "My grandsire told me the old monitors like to keep to themselves, so 'Therapy may've inherited the habit. Still would've liked it if she'd joined us out tonight, though."

Depth Charge nodded. He knew it was Jazz³'s round-about way of saying that he didn't trust Shock Therapy alone. "Yeah. The file I received on her said she's not a 'people person'. But you're right, it never hurts to ask. I'm just surprised that Misery decided to join us."

Adjusting his visor, the third spoke so only the blue and purple Maximal could hear him, "Speaking of that - what's going on with you two? You said you got a recharge the other night, but the way I count it, you were with her during that time. Together. Alone." When Depth Charge refused to acknowledge the accusation, Jazz³ went on to say, "Boss, I dunwanna tell ya your business, but she's a 'con through and through. 'Cons like her'll kill ya just as soon as look at you."

"She won't kill me," he grinned, but the gesture was lost upon the black and white flyer's skeptical frown.

"I hope you're right," Jazz³ said. "But still, be careful. There're those on second string who're already talkin' about the two 'cons you brought in. Regardless of whether they're officers on loan or out and out Tripredacus Agents, they know they're not supposed to be here. The others don't understand the relations that you're trying to build between the groups." Flipping his visor up, the third flashed cerulean optics to his chief of security. "You got a good thing going on here. I'd hate to see you get ruined."

"I appreciate your concerns, Cue', but Omicron was never long term for me. You knew that up front when they placed me here."

"Which is why . . ." Jazz³ trailed off, following with his eyes a white and cherry female who brushed passed them. "Which is why it's so important you be even more careful. The generals - sorry, the _Elders_ have high hopes for you. But association with a 'con - any 'con - could cost you big."

"Really, Cue', haven't you learned by now that I baulk at tradition?" Depth Charge punched his subordinate playfully in the pauldron. "Besides, bots like me should never end up as Convoys."

"Oh, hm," Jazz³ furrowed his brow in the other's direction. "You mean they've made the offer to you?"

"The Elders?" Depth Charge huffed. "No. I've never received an official offer. Only ever had it mentioned in passing when I was in the academy. And like I said, I should never be a Convoy."

"I don't see why not. You're an excellent candidate."

"Candidate, maybe. When it comes down to it, though, I've got some pretty damn questionable morals."

"I'll say. Look at Misery, for example. I get a creeped out feeling every time she looks at you. Like she's constantly weighing the thought of ripping your spark out."

"Comforting . . ." the leviathan scoffed.

"Seriously. But you - you look right back at her and I think you wanna say: 'I can open my chest if it'll make it easier for you'."

"Jazz, look," Depth Charge huffed. He turned and faced the other so they stood eye to eye, and bearing the full weight of his mass over the other to emphasize, the security chief said, "Whatever the consequence, whatever the outcome, I cannot forsake her. I owe her too much to just let her go."

Taken aback, the third clapped his mouth shut and adverted his eyes. "To owe a Decepticon," he hissed an unnecessary breath, "it's just not done. It's asking for trouble.

After shaking his helm clear, the black and white Autobot-sired noticed that the security chief was no longer paying attention to him. Following the larger Maximal's gaze, Jazz³ watched as Misery and Cybershark transformed from their flight modes and descended upon the group. While Cybershark began speaking with the twins, Misery strode up to the leviathan with intent in her eyes. "I request your audio," she motioned to the side, not even sparing a glance to the third-generation sired.

Before peeling himself away from the bulkhead, Depth Charge waved a hand at his third to wordlessly advert the other's concerned expression. Next, he trotted along to catch up to the female, then matched his stride with hers until they were out of audio range and well away from the group. Stepping into an alcove, the Maximal checked once to see that his subordinates were still within sight, then he asked her, "What's up?"

Checking to ensure no one was listening, Misery answered, "I have been instructed by the Tripredacus Council to represent their dismay for the loss of Scrapper."

"Yeah," he blinked, not sure how he should respond. "Okay?"

"To his ganger," she amended.

Depth Charge took a moment to process the information. "That's," he twitched, "forward of them."

"I agree. It is only a political move. They wish to strategically move before the Maximal High Council can express their . . . _diplomatic_ sympathies."

"What?" he half-choked, half-sputtered. "Do they even realize? What can they possibly be thinking? The miners aren't going to care about their sympathies. They don't care what politicians have to say."

"Perhaps," she mused, twisting her helm to face the group who were talking amongst themselves. True to form, Cybershark had fallen into his usual self and so far had not compromised her plans. At least he was true to his word. "But the miners shall care when I say it."

"Why's that?" he narrowed crimson optics inquisitively.

"Scrapper is a Decepticon, but he is also the great architect. I am of like ilk. While I am not a miner, I am ally to Scrapper."

"Ya talk like he's still alive," Depth Charge accused, brow furrowing when his instincts told him to be suspicious.

"To my credit," she smirked, "I speak likewise of Lord Megatron."

"Point taken," he grunted. Turning to face the awaiting group, he found them all staring expectantly. He asked without facing her, "You plan on telling the ganger tonight then?"

"Those are my instructions," Misery confessed.

"Very well," he said. "But for now, let's just go relax and unwind. The guys need a break."

* * *

><p>Club <em>15-4-36<em> was nestled deep in the lower tiers of Ward Six, and like many of the structures before it, the club spanned the height of the lower tier. It provided the facility with the ability to accommodate hundreds of Cybertronians of varying size, and served as one of the main gathering places for the miners.

Following their rotation in the belly of the asteroid, the workers migrated to the club to quench their thirst with energon and oil, and to assuage their fatigue. More importantly, it was a place for the miners to forget their troubles and look forward to recounting tales of better days and discussing future aspirations.

By the time Depth Charge and the others found their way to the entrance, they were greeted by a black and blue male who stood guard. "At the risk of sounding rude," the bouncer growled, "what the slagging Pit are you doing here?"

The question had been directed at the leviathan, but it was Air-slake who jumped ahead of his commanding officer to answer. "It's cool Mace, we're just here to relax with the rest of you guys."

Mace considered the Autobot-sired for a moment, then smacked his jaws close to the twin's face. "You and your brother I've seen here before. Even that flyer over there," he pointed to Jazz³, "but you're all here. Makes me think you've come here to arrest someone." Snapping his helm to the side, he glowered in Air Lock's direction. "We don't like it when authorities come here for their business."

"Mace is it?" Depth Charge interjected. "We're not here on business. We're here to relax. My word."

"What's the word of a Maximal?" Mace hissed. "You're lying. I don't trust you."

"Trust me in his stead," Misery stepped between them, offering herself as a shield to the security chief.

Instead of perpetuating his stand, the bouncer retreated with a huff. "You're a 'con," he said matter-of-factly.

"A moment," Misery waved the group off, and only after they backed away uncertainly did the female Decepticon return to the bouncer. "On behalf of Depth Charge and these bots, I give you my word." Misery touched two dactyls to her helm and slid them down her bridge. "I am Misery. Do you question the legitimacy of my word, brother?"

The black and blue male sensed the underlying message, but concealed his face so as not to arouse suspicion. "Sister dear, to you I do so greet and welcome among our kind. I remind you - be sure to greet our _family_ before you become too enthralled with the miners." Upon throwing his helm back, Mace bellowed with laughter so that the others could hear him, pretending that Misery had said something intriguing and well-mannered. Managing to contain himself, Mace emphasized his words to ensure the others understood, "Welcome, lady. I bid you enter with your companions. But for your word, take heed, there will be no treachery."

Stepping aside, he pressed a hand against the door and slid it open, allowing the jumbled noises to escape into the street. After sharing a nod with her factory mate, Misery entered and the others soon followed, but not before Jazz³ received a jaw smack from Mace for the questioning stare he had offered. "Okay," the third muttered, "what just happened here?"

"Look closely," Air Lock pointed to Misery then back to the door that had slid shut to hide the street. "They're the same make and model. I think he took it as a sign that he could trust her."

"Oh, yeah," the third inspected the female Decepticon carefully, then ribbed Cybershark in the side. "You okay? You looked ready to jump the bouncer back there."

"I'm drained and he was trying my patience," Cybershark admonished. "I just need some good energon and I'll feel better."

"Hmm . . . we should grab a table and some drinks," Jazz³ said.

"You all worry about the table, I'll grab us the drinks," Air Lock offered before disappearing into the sea of chattering and drinking bots.

"So," Depth Charge prodded, hitching himself against the railing to overlook the party goers below. Beside him, Misery gripped the railing with both hands, systematically scanning the crowd for a bot who matched the description she had received of the ganger. "Ya gonna come sit with us first, or you gonna pay your respects?"

"I will see to the ganger first. Do not delay your rest on my behalf."

"I'm still surprised you agreed to join us," Depth Charge leaned into her side, planting his mouth close enough to her audios. He whispered, "You don't agree to things without an ulterior motive. I'm anxious to see what you might have planned."

Smirking, Misery cocked her helm to the side so that her mouth was inches from his. "Precious pet, my intent is to convey the message of the Tripredacus Council to the ganger who oversaw Scrapper. What comes afterward is merely-" she slid a hand over his pauldron, gently forcing him away "-_guerdon_."

Patting his pauldron a final time, Misery sauntered off and down the nearest staircase. Leaving the others behind, she wove her way through the crowd and passed tables overflowing with miners engaged in riotous conversation. Pausing long enough only to scan the tables, the female Decepticon continued down to the next level and found a section of booths built into the walls.

In the corner of one sat the ganger, surrounded by green and silver mechs with etchings of caution and experience seared into their pauldrons and helms. The black and blue Decepticon crossed the threshold into the booth, and was instantly accosted by several of the mechs. "Hey, 'Rade! How's about a refill!"

The Decepticon female raised an eyearch to the group. "Who is Raid?"

"What's the matter, sweetspark? You hit your helm or something? Drinks!" one of the males held up his gauntlet and pointed to it for emphasis. "Need more. Drinks. Energon. Oil!"

"Leave 'er be, Vulture. Can't ye tell the diff'rence 'tween that femme and 'Rade?" the ganger called from the head of the table.

"Huh?" Vulture narrowed his optics, leaned forward, and wiped at his face. "If you're not Masquerade, you sure look a slaggin' lot like her."

Ignoring the other, Misey inquired, "You are the ganger for mining commission seven-twelve, are you not?"

"Eh. Yea. I's Manoeuver," he said, taking a sip from his chalice. "Who might ye be?"

Misery approached the mech and tipped her helm in salutation. "I am Misery. I suspect you have noticed the absence of the one you call Fencer."

Manoeuver squinted at his drink, swirled the last of the energon, and then guzzled the last of it. "Aye. Fencer, one of m' best. I's s'posin' he contracted a chem'cle ailment? - didn' want us to know. Many a miner has preferred t' die alone." The ganger drummed his fingers upon the table. Motioning with the same hand, he asked that a seat be cleared for the Decepticon female. "Won' ya join me for the moment. I's inclined to think you bring news of Fencer's _condition_?"

"Indeed," Misery took the seat closest to the ganger and surveyed the group of miners looking expectantly to her. Without diverting her scarlet optics to the ganger, she revealed, "Scrapper's maturations with the labourers has ended. The tag he wore has left a scar of _devastation_ upon this colony. His memory here should not be forgotten."

"I see," Manoeuver and the other miners hung their helms. Silently, strategically, the ganger instead picked at her words. She had called the architect by his true name, meaning she spoke with the authority of the Tripredacus Council; instead of "service" or "position", she had said "maturations", which could only mean the development of a well-constructed plan; the termination tag was mentioned as only leaving a scar upon the colony, which meant Scrapper was _alive_. And if her final statement were to be interpreted, then there was something long forgotten to be revealed before the rest cycle ended.

In a matter of a second, he had discerned and judged: Misery was friend to the miners. He huffed, playing upon the subtle conversation, "You must've served with Scrapper durin' times of ol'. I's 'spect nothin' less from ye then, lady grenadier. I's honoured to work with 'im - Scrapper bein' among m' dedicated workers. He be sorely missed.

"Ye see, we don' care down here 'bout who fought on what side o' the war, so long as each bot does 'is job. S'posin' the workers need trust, well . . . it's a brotherhood down 'ere, lady Mis'ry. We's all trustin' our lives t'our brothers. One slip can cost many lives."

A smirk graced the corner of her blue lips. "Camaraderie is admirable, as is the resilience of the miners. Much can be gained from a profession such as yours, though tyrannical corporations will never understand."

"We respected him," one of the other miners supplied after the silence had grown palpable. "Fencer - _Scrapper_ - he learned to trust us, so we trusted him in return."

Misery nodded. "Yes, forever a loyal servant to those who call him brother."

Curiously, the ganger narrowed his optics at the black and blue female. Finally, Manoeuver declared, "Tonigh' we drink to 'im. Vulture, go fetch Mach' and tell 'im to serve up to everyone. Not a dry chalice."

"Sure thing," Vulture climbed to his feet and disappeared from the booth.

The female Decepticon watched him leave, drew a line lightly into the table, and then drew the same dactyl over her lower lip. "Once you have your moment of eulogium, I should like the same honour. A Decepticon of Scrapper's caliber deserves the commendation befitting of his rank."

"They would appreciate your _tribute_." The lilt of voice in the way Manoeuver concurred alerted Misery that he had understood her subtleties.

* * *

><p>"-then I said to the guy, 'That's no gearshift, that's my attenuator!'"<p>

Cybershark shook his helm in annoyance and smacked a hand over his eyes. To Air Lock, he said, "No matter how many times I hear someone tell that joke, I think it still sucks."

"I agree," Air Lock downed the last of his oil and wiped at his bevor, eyeing the miner in the adjoining booth who had told the abominable joke.

"Easy guys, no need to get flustered over nothing," Air-slake reprimanded. "We're here to relax, not get bent out of shape."

"Exactly," Jazz³ corroborated. "I mean, who wants to sit around bitchin' when we can get our dance on?"

"You'll have to wait for that, boys," threw in a black and blue waitress. Skillfully, she balanced a serving tray filled with barrels of oil and energon while she topped off their drinks.

"Why's that?" Depth Charge finally turned to face her and was nearly taken aback. " . . . ya look like Misery."

Now that she had the attention of the table, the waitress glanced from one to the other, eyearch raised in question. "Misery? You know her?"

"Aside from the lack of mask, you and her look identical," Air Lock flinched, lamenting briefly the lack of Misery's presence. _That's weird,_ he thought. _Why do I suddenly miss her?_

"She and I are old factory siblings since before - well, since we were built." The waitress coyly hooked a finger under Cybershark's muzzle and directed his face to hers. "So, cutie, you know my sister, care to tell me where she's gone?"

Quivering to her touch, the second brushed his snout against the other's palm and caught a brief flash of a factory filled with processing tanks. In the aisle between them, twenty or more shadows faded into the distance while a fierce shade moved among them. Shaking himself clean of the thought, Cybershark replied, "I-I think she went downstairs."

Taking notice of his second's frustration, and in an attempt to return to his original question, Depth Charge remarked, "As for the dancing - something wrong down on the floor?"

"Oh, nothing like that, sweetie," the waitress cooed, removing her dactyls from the flustered teal Maximal. To Depth Charge, she said, "Word's come to us that another miner fell. There's to be a wassail. Everybody drinks."

Reaching around the table, she scooped up the last triangular chalice, topped it off with energon, and returned it to Air-slake. "And by the way, cutie," she mounted Cybershark's lap and wrapped an arm around him so instantaneously that it left him jabbering nonsense. "My name's Masquerade. Folks 'round here call me 'Rade. You ever wanna come back without your pals, I'd love to get to know you."

Disappearing just as she had appeared, Masquerade moved on to the next table and left Cybershark with his jaw agape. Trying several times to speak, the teal male all but gave up when Jazz³ erupted in laughter, "Cy', I don't know how you always mess that up."

Air Lock and Air-slake were more subtle with their laughter, with Air Lock jabbing his friend playfully in the side, "Yeah, Cy'. You should go find her later tonight. I'm sure she'd love to find out what _grinds_ your gears."

"Shuuu-" he hissed, flicked a tongue across his many rows of teeth, and tried once more. "_Shut it!_"

Depth Charge, who had stifled his amusement just as it had risen, hushed his companions. Briefly, they all examined the equally silent club and found that everyone present had ceased discussion and focused to the dance floor below. Depth Charge raised a finger to his lips before Air-slake could question, and then indicated to the figure who was climbing upon the raised platform just as the others abandoned it.

"Comrades!" Manoeuver bellowed, gaining the collective focus of the club. "I's certain there's been questions 'garding our absent Fencer." Clutching his oil container, the ganger continued, "I's learned a great unfortun'e. Our Fencer, who ye all knew by 'is real name as Scrapper, is no longer among us."

Though they waited anxiously, no one made a sound. Instead, Manoeuver grated the back of his corpulent hand against his bevor before his voice permeated the riotous silence once more. "I's knew 'im. You's knew 'im. Scrapper di' more than 'is fair share each shift an' 'e never complained. If any needed help, 'e gave it read'ly. Tonigh' we drink to 'im. We drink to Scrapper. Though he be Decepticon, he be miner with us." The ganger raised his chalice and the room mimicked his action. Even the guardians found themselves with drink in hand. "To Scrapper!"

"_To Scrapper!_" boomed the room in response.

Air-slake had the oil halfway to his lips before his twin halted him with a hand. Without words, the brothers exchanged the query and response, only to have Jazz³ emphasize the interruption by pointing out that the miners had not yet sipped from their drinks.

"Broken is the sound," Manoeuver's bass rose, "another mech falls dead. / And every bot that sees him knows he'll be the very next. / Yet we endure . . ." Holding his oil container high, he sang and soon was accompanied by Vulture who had patiently stood at the base of the platform. "Well here we miners live and know we soon will die. / We dig and scrape the green that fuels those Elders High . . ."

The foundation shook when every miner joined the a cappella, "There's a'columns crumblin' down and now a bot we cannot find. / Then comes the ailment that wracks our sparks and breaks our haggard minds."

"Holy shit," Depth Charge whispered, blinking his shock away. "I had no idea . . ."

"Neither did we," Jazz³ admitted, head turning from side to side to observe all who sang the miner's song.

"This is unbelievable," Air-slake fumbled.

"This is depressing," Air Lock amended. "Just _listen_ to their words."

_"For those who think they've won, soon they've got the glowin' mark. / For every bot within this job, we pay with mech and spark."_

As the lament drew to a close, Depth Charge joined with the others to drink as one. While he drew the last gulps of oil down his gullet, the leviathan caught movement in the corner of his eye. Jerking his helm to the right, he made out the backside of the female Decepticon who approached the ganger from the side. Misery waited patiently as the last singers' words resonated from top to bottom - each tier collected the harmonics and held so tight that it took several minutes before the pub was once again quiet.

"Brothers," Manoeuver motioned his companion away before indicating to the female who had joined him on stage. "I's has the honour of introducing you to Misery. She is a lady grenadier who served with Scrapper durin' the war, so I's asked her here to speak. Give her yer audios as you've given to me."

Excusing himself from the platform, the ganger shuffled off to stand with Vulture while Misery sans drink canvased the room level by level. "Brothers and sisters," she began, matching each attendant eye to eye. "I will not keep you at length. Less than three days ago, Scrapper's termination tag detonated, thus forever removing him from his services upon Omicron. His duration here lead to many a yokefellow, so to you I extend the gratitude and remorse of the elders."

In a hushed voice, Vulture turned to the ganger and asked, "You said her words would be duplicitous - can you explain?"

"Aye - to us a victory to be had. Scrapper is alive, an' in three days time will come a great rebuke. Sin' she respects the miners, the lady grenadier gives us warning to leave the area. There'll be an even greater e'splosion to cover 'is tracks . . ."

"I am reminded of a time long forgotten," Misery continued. Above her, many a miner had risen from their seat and moved to the railing if only to have a better vantage point. "When a Decepticon expired on the battlefield, there was no time to mourn. Instead, when the battle had been won, we danced to fill the void left in our sparks."

"_Slag_," the ganger shuddered.

"What's she mean now?" Vulture twisted, but only enough to keep the Decepticon female in sight.

"She's not a grenadier like I thought. She's the rusted Void - _Megatron's Void_. Special ops that would level disputed territories an' leave nothin' behind."

"How come I've never heard of them?"

"Because ta speak o' the Void was -_is_- taboo. If you're not one o' them, it's just inviting them upon you to even mention them."

"What about the dance? What's she saying then?" Vulture inveigled.

Manoeuver swallowed with great difficulty, "I's not yet sure. Diff'rent dances mean diff'rent things. As to the rest o' it - I's has to see to tell ye."

"Comrades!" Misery crescendoed. "I invite you. Join us as we praise Scrapper. Join us as we _remember!_"

It wasn't clapping that met her words, but stomping and rhythmic drumming to the base of the platform. Of those who had come forward, Masquerade and her brother Malice (another black and blue bouncer) had begun the template that others were quick to imitate.

Misery smirked at her sister, cocked her helm to the side, and then spun her gauntlets cyclically while raising them above her helm. Next, her hands smacked together and whatever noise had permeated the club subsided. All looked to her for direction, and an instant later the black and blue Decepticon female had darted to her right and met her sister in a symmetrical stance.

The two slid across the platform, leading more onlookers to pick up the drumming where Masquerade and Malice had begun. Interlocking their arms, Misery and Masquerade encircled one another and canalized their footsteps to keep pace with the rising tempo.

"What the slag!" Jazz³ launched to his feet and ran to the railing to view the action. The others were soon crowding around him and finding their own places at the railing, watching as the two females jaunted across the platform together. "Holy shit, I've never seen anything like this!"

"Who knew they could dance?" Cybershark mused, and when he saw how intently focused Depth Charge had become of the entertainment, he jabbed at the security chief.

Shaking his helm, the blue and purple Maximal said aloud to himself, "Had no idea she could dance . . ." Briefly, Depth Charge considered that for someone such as Misery who hardly showed any emotion, she had certainly astonished them all by not only conveying verbal sympathy but by leading the growing dance party. If only he knew the song, the leviathan would have been more inclined to join the others down below, but as it stood, neither he nor Jazz³, Cybershark, or the twins knew the song. So there they stayed, watching from above even as Misery and Masquerade leapt by one another and into the arms two like-framed males.

"Sister," the large male greeted Misery, lowering her once then catapulting them both about the dance floor with the others who had paired off.

"Machiavellian," Misery preened. Her hands entwined with his and the two pursued the other flyers who had taken to dancing in the air. "Your presence here surprises me."

"Been here since the end of the war," he smirked. Further entangling their bodies, Machiavellian planted a kiss upon the back of her hand while his palm laid flat against hers. Establishing the direct connection between their hands, the black and blue male drew far enough away that their hands could remain clasped while they spoke in secret with unmoving lips. \'What has brought you to Omicron, my dearest sister?'\

/'My companion Xyston is held prisoner here. I have come to release him.'/

Machiavellian could not prevent the laughter from permeating her thoughts. \'You mean your neurotic lover survived as well? Now that is something to celebrate! If you have need of us, you have only to ask. My connections run deep in this colony.'\

Separating above the others, the black and blue seekers free-fell backwards and perched upon the railing of the third to highest tier. As they waited, Mace shouldered his way through the crowd that had grew near the guardians. "Out of the way," he bellowed. He then shoved past Air Lock and Air-slake and leapt upon the railing to mimic his brothers and sisters. Rasping an ill-meant laughter, the bouncer cocked his head in Depth Charge's direction and said, "I trust you guardians will make sure nothing happens while I join them."

Before Depth Charge had the chance to retort, Mace hunkered down, faced forward, and splayed his wings behind him. Now that he was in position with his six siblings, they began slithering and swaying from side to side, all the while twisting their upper bodies and arms in complicated movements. Once they were fully erect, all who had joined the dance paused, motionless and waiting.

"Out of the way means to move away," Mace threatened, warning again without turning his helm. Those who stood next to him took two steps back and then, with red eyes wide and arms thrown to his sides, the black and blue Decepticon bellowed with his siblings, "_**Hÿrt #nsĵrĵ Słrĵnĵngĵsĭng #nd Ĭ#fstłĵg Ĭ#fstłĵg Ĭ#fstłĵg**_!" The club rumbled with the thunderous melody of a language forgotten, shaking not just the one building but the surrounding ones as well.

"What the slag!" Jazz³ voiced the concern of the guardians, who as one had gripped the nearest bolted objects in an attempt to remain standing.

"What the hell was that?" Cybershark picked himself up from the floor, just as they were once again forgotten and ignored by the dancers.

"Judging by the bass tones," Air-slake began, "Low Cybertronian."

"What's it mean?" Depth Charge gave his full attention to the red and white flyer, but the shrug from the other prompted him further. "I thought ya knew over a thousand languages."

"Well, yes, but . . . It's _Low_ Cybertronian. No one speaks it anymore." Realizing what he had said was counterintuitive, he amended, "Well, if they _do_ still speak it, then it's means they were around since before the Great War."

"That's not necessarily true," Air Lock threw in. Looking out over the room, he saw that those who couldn't fit upon the platform below had taken to dancing on the stairs and upper tiers. "It sounded like a line from one of the old epics. Some of the older songs are still carried over today - even though most are translated to Basic, some have preserved lyrics in Old Cybertronian."

"I didn't recognize it," Depth Charge said. "Which one do ya think it's from?"

"Well," Air Lock turned back to the other guardians and shrugged. "The line had a similar rhythm to the dirge from _Suit of the Paladins_. You know? - It's the one about the two brothers who ended up on different sides during a civil war."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that one," Jazz³ smirked. "My sire told me about that story. The dirge signifies the death and subsequent rise from the Matrix by the older brother . . . What was that character's name again?"

Air-slake snapped his talons when he remembered, "Cloudgiver. And the younger brother was Solargriever. If I remember correctly, Solargriever sought power but was opposed by Cloudgiver. When Cloudgiver refused to yield territory to his brother, Solargriever slew him in battle. As the story goes, the Matrix deemed his work undone, and brought Cloudgiver back to life. He went on to fight Solargriever once more, but he could not deal the killing blow. Instead, he offered his brother the chance to rule by his side. Humbled and humiliated, Solargriever agreed."

"Sounds like a boring epic," Depth Charge laughed.

"That's only the first and second act of the opera," Air Lock chastised. "The third and fourth recount how Solargriever again betrays his brother by stealing his mate, aviary, and territory. He has Cloudgiver banished to wander the Empty Lands for thirteen stellarcycles before Cloudgiver is rallied to reclaim his lands after he sees the atrocities his brother commits. Having learned his own lesson, Cloudgiver comes back the second time and kills his brother and his brother's followers."

"Such a beautiful epic. And to see it performed in the raw is simply sublime," Air-slake swooned, crossing his arms atop the railing and resting his chin on the back of his hand. Lazily, he flexed his wings and sighed, "Brother, isn't it just amazing?"

Air Lock clamped his mouth shut, diverted his gaze to the dance floor, and witnessed a complicated routine fold out between the seven factory siblings. "It's very beautiful. But I see my drink is gone, so I'm going to refill. Let me know if I miss anything." Hurrying away and down the nearest staircase, the red and white jet wove his way through the dances and set his somber face.

_Father, you made sure I knew this opera. Why? What is the purpose?_ Air Lock pivoted over the rail and meandered to the nearest barkeep on the lower level. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he took point of the roles the dancers had filled. _There has yet to be a Cloudgiver and Solargriever. Am I to play the role of one of them?_ "Thank you," he said aloud to the bartender who had topped off his triangular chalice.

Instead of returning upstairs to his companions, the flyer snuck down to the lower level and hid himself amidst the gawkers and the dancers awaiting their rotation. Leaning against the nearest support beam, Air Lock thought, _Misery is obviously playing the part of Rainbinder, and she's been seeing Depth Charge, but that begs the question of whether their not-so-secret relationship actually makes him Cloudgiver in this dance instead of Solargriever. But he doesn't know the dance, nor does he know what's to become of Omicron . . ._

He nearly lubricated himself when Misery's talons stomped down the platform disturbingly close to his face. Their eyes met, and Air Lock found himself staring at her with the renowned focus of a thespian preparing for his chosen role. On the outskirts of his vision, he caught sight of her proffered gauntlet, though she removed it to enact another scene from the opera before he could react.

_That's it, then?_ He blinked, swallowed with difficulty, and righted himself from the beam. _Do I dare take the step that'll unwrite the future as Father predicted it? To such a villainous spark, am I to be her Solargriever?_

As the dance came to an end, the seven blue and black Decepticons formed a heptagon and extended their right arms and legs in an asymmetrical bow. The ensemble who had wandered between the factory siblings slunk away and left the space vacant, yet still the seven held their posture.

"Does it all mean something?" Vulture finally asked of his ganger.

"Aye. _Suit of the Paladins_. The dirge's Megatron's crooked 'terpretation. Lady Mis'ry plays the role o' Rainbinder. It's she who drove bro'her agains' bro'her. Should a bot ta'e up the role o' Cloudgiver in the next dance, then it is a call to arms fo' all. Should the next bot be Solargriever . . ." Manoeuver drew an unnecessary breath when the crowd parted to allow Air Lock to approach the seven.

From above, Jazz³ gave Depth Charge a vexed face. "I guess he's already had too much?"

"He's gonna make a fool of himself," Depth Charge started, reaching for the railing. But he ceased his intervention when he saw the slack-jawed, wide-eyed expression from Air-slake. Until that moment, the security chief had never seen Air-slake so fearful, so it prompted him to ask, " 'Slake, you okay?"

"My brother's an idiot," he offered, though his mind was racing from the looming tempest creeping into his servos. He then repeated aloud, "He's just an idiot."

Polishing off his drink for the third time, Air Lock tossed the chalice away and approached Misery without caution. Now toe to talon with the female who had not deviated from her pose, Air Lock mirrored her stance yet deepened the bow. Eye to the ground, he heard every erupting whisper that washed over the nearest gawkers.

Misery raised a hand to cease the advances of her brother Malice, who in a rage at such an intrusion had already crossed the length of the dance floor to remove the Autobot-sired. Waving him off, the female Decepticon raised an eyearch at Machiavellian, signaling him to her intent. Receiving a nod in return, she dipped low and rumbled, "_**SŷŭĬrgrłĵvĵr**_." The platform quivered and nearly crumbled under the tone. The vibrations rattled Air Lock, a feat not so easily managed for one his size. "_**T#n Słĵ słch sĵŭbst vĵrnĬrrt Ĭ#f młch sŷ nĬch vŷrnĵ dĬss łch nłcht ŷhnĵ VŷrbĵhĬŭtĵ.**_"

In turn, Minstrel gave his sister Masquerade a privileged chuckle, one that triggered more ascending laughter from the miners who stood close.

"_**Ĵhrt młch młt ĵłnĵm TĬnz - #nd gĵwłnnĵn Słĵ mĵłnĵ Z#nĵłg#ng łn mĵłnĵr Frĵłzĵłt,**_" Misery flicked her tongue over her lower lip, upturned a lazy smile, and raised Air Lock's helm with two ice-coloured dactyls under his chin. "_**Wĵnn Słĵ schĵłtĵrn - wĵrdĵ łch dłch młt dĵm Włŭŭĵn dĵłnĵs Br#dĵrs rïchĵn ĵnthĬ#ptĵn.**_"

Air Lock tilted his helm to the side. "So does that mean you accept my offer to dance?"

Misery threw her helm back in what could only be a controlled chortle, sobered her face, and then commanded, "Do essay to keep pace." In a burst of untraceable speed, the two were off heel to toe, lapping the other dancers in the time it took to collectively turn their heads.

The word gallivant would not be enough to describe the series of complex vaults, steps, twists, and dips that the two displayed. Midway across the raised platform, the two dashed to a sudden halt, his hands on either side of her hips and her arms raising in abrupt start and stop patterns. Now with her hands above his helm, she reversed direction and brought them down while he simultaneously raised to meet her. The entire time their bodies swayed and swooned, with nearly every action by one met with a response from the other.

"Oh my . . ." Air-slake swallowed, mind failing to make sense of what was occurring on the dance floor. Even over the returning beat of foot stomps and heckles from the crowd, the wailing sound of metal being wrought into the shape of Depth Charge's hands was enough to capture the flyer's attention.

Despite his attempt to hide the envious contempt from his face, the security chief had made it utterly clear that he did not approve of Air Lock's proximity to Misery. _Oh Primus. Is something changing?_ Air-slake jerked his eyes back to the floor where the two had been joined by others in their performance. _'Lock, whatever you're doing, you need to stop! Oh, Primus, you're changing something that shouldn't!_

* * *

><p>"Manny, wait for me!" Vulture rushed to keep up, calling after his ganger who had dashed from the club. "I don't understand, why are we runnin'?"<p>

"Listen to me!" Manoeuver grabbed his companion by the collar and jerked him into the seclusion of the back alley. "Those 'cons in there don' play games! Lady Mis'ry sai' only half the line. We ha'e to go! We go now! Get word to all the miners! Don' pack, don' dally. Get out! Get out! _Get out!_"

"But Manny," the other contested, face upturning in supplication and voice quieting in trepidation, "we can't just pick up and go."

"You're not lis'enin' to me," he snapped. Indicating to the space around them, the ganger revealed, "All o' this. _All o' it._ It's not gonna be 'ere when they get through. The Void's gonna swallow Omicron 'hole!"

Vulture quivered when he was released by the miner. Composing himself, he regretfully said, "How long do we have?"

"A day if'n we can manage," Manoeuver hurried off with Vulture keeping pace this time. "I's thinkin' any longer an' we's jus' as dead."

* * *

><p>Steeping themselves to a halt, Air Lock bent atop Misery, whose wings splayed out to allow her pauldrons to nearly touch the floor. Ubiquitous cheers announced the approval of the crowd, and the troupe who had cleared way for the two returned to the dance floor with the same swelling sensation of water rushing the shoreline. The Decepticon wordlessly encouraged the Autobot-sired to release her, and she disappeared readily into the crowd to make her escape from the public eye.<p>

"Hey, wait!" Air Lock called, forcing his way after her.

Upon stepping away from the troupe, Misery obliged her brother Machiavellian with a passing nod, then jaunted for the stairwell that would exit into the side alley. Cybershark was there to greet her, his face full of predatory teeth. "Depth Charge's pissed."

"Naturally," she answered. "And the others?"

"They smell of pride and vengeance. You have undoubtedly swayed the crowd this night." Cybershark caught sight of Air Lock, who was fast approaching. He hurried to finish. "My sense tells me they understood. And that ganger will ensure the others understand, too."

"Splendid," she tossed a glance over her shoulder to the Autobot-sired - he was almost upon them now. "Cybershark, do make certain that Depth Charge does not pursue me this night."

"Affirmative," he said, then withdrew unseen.

"Hey, Miz'!" Air Lock called again, shouldering his way through the door that had nearly shut in his face. "That was some dance," he yelled, racing down the alley after her. "Just a second, okay? I wanna talk to you a minute! _Misery!_"

Yanked by the wrist and thrust up against the alley wall, Air Lock pinned the black and blue seeker, and snapped his lips tightly to hers. Not even a nanoclick went by before Misery's fist made acquaintance with his face. "Slag, you don't have to hit so hard," he said, rubbing at his face and staring up from where he had fallen on his aft. "That wasn't really necessary."

"Had I less restraint, your core processor would be dripping from the wall behind you," Misery hissed, hand wafting over her sidearm for emphasis.

"Really now," Air Lock adjusted his jaw and gave her a glazed look. "I just had to know if you were worth it."

"Worth what?" she ventured.

"It's my brother, you see," he plucked himself from the ground and stood toe to talon with her once more. Matter-of-factly, he said, "He's in love with you."

"Your brother's desires do not warrant my concern. I am uninterested in him," Misery gritted her teeth, then spat her next insult. "I would prefer if you did not convolute _your_ intentions behind your brother."

"But my brother really does- hey, _wait!_" he scurried after her, and this time he found it easy to keep pace with her long strides since they did not have wall-to-wall crowds hindering their every step. "Look, Miz', I just want to get to know you better, is that so bad?"

"You judge an opinion of attraction based upon a dance you know not the meaning of?" she stepped upon the nearest lift, pushing past a heavy hauler who took up nearly all of the space. With her back to the wall, Air Lock situated himself at her side and stroked a hand nonchalantly against the paneling.

"It's the _Suit of the Paladins_," he admonished. "Not much to it other than a brother betraying his ilk for the love of a femme. A whole aviary turned upside down all because one femme chose her lover over her mate."

The heavy hauler resigned to the following tier and left the two to themselves in a silence filled only by Air Lock's narrative. "But I suppose there are some who believe that Rainbinder mated with Solargriever in secret before she publically became Cloudgiver's mate. Really puts a spin on things and makes Cloudgiver out to be the villain if read the other way. Of course, the preferred way has Solargriever as the villain who stole away everything from the hero."

"What need does your rambling satisfy?" Misery's obstinacy was the only thing that prevented her from simply tearing out the other's spark. Even with the chance to deal a crippling, psychological blow to the Autobot who had brought about an end to the Decepticon uprising, she refused to play her hand too soon.

"Just that I'm wondering," he said, "how long before you poison this entire colony with your thirst for revenge."

"My thirst?" she guffawed. "Child, you cannot fathom what my thirsts are, let alone make presumptions to my character."

He turned to her, face devoid of emotion, and spoke coldly and with confidence, "Spin the truth with Depth Charge as much as you like, but remember who you speak to. I am the first-sired of Air Raid, I am the highborn Jack of Diamonds. Do not think for one moment that I am not privileged to your intensions with Depth Charge, your lover Xyston, or this colony."

Choler flooded her eyes. Mentally she calculated the probabilities. If he knew what she was about, then he had made no gesture to stop her plans. _If he knows, it is only because Air Raid has bestowed such knowledge,_ she thought. But another thought occurred to her, one that -if correct- meant her carefully constructed plans could easily be overturned. "What do you believe you know, Maximal?"

"Only what my father has told me," he answered truthfully. "He says the future cannot be changed. But I must charge you, for I cannot allow you to knowingly pursue your intensions without making this guilt weigh upon you. You will break Depth Charge's heart - you will break my brother's heart . . . and my own."

"So I am to be burdened with these sparks, none of which I care intimately for. How Maximal of you to leverage guilt. However, your manipulations will leave you wanting. I cannot be coerced."

"I know you won't, but I want you to remember it. I can't sit idly by while you -"

The klaxons drew their attention, but the Autobot-sired grabbed the female by the pauldrons before she could take flight. "Hold on, it's not what you think."

"Mm?" Misery considered him for a moment, jerked herself free of his grip, but choose to patiently lean against the lift for the duration of the alarm. "If this is not a battle cry, what is its purpose?"

"I guess it's still relatively new," the red jet faced the front of the lift and traced circles around the lattice work. "We added this system down here a few years ago, but because it's still in the testing phase, we haven't listed it as an official security feature."

_|ATTENTION! ATTENTION! OXYGEN LEVELS HAVE ACCUMULATED ABOVE FORTY-SIX PERCENT. INITIATING IMMEDIATE LOCKDOWN OF WARD SIX. PLEASE VACATE TO APPROVED GREEN ZONES FOR DESATURATION. ESTIMATED TIME TO COMPLETION: TWENTY-FOUR CYCLES.|_

"What is this?" Misery exclaimed.

"This is . . . one part science, another part whimsy. I don't know if you're familiar with space mines, but there's a tendency for oxygen to accumulate in the residential tiers that are close to the entrances of the mines. This feeds back into the mines, which we can't have. For zero-gravity space mines, oxygen equals bad." He rubbed at his face and stepped back from the side of the lift. "You'll want to move away from the side."

She complied, but not before the green-tinted energy shield snapped up around the front side of the lift, which had begun to slow between the tiers. Uncomfortable with the closeness, but refusing to show her incredulous anxiety, Misery roused herself to the floor and crossed her legs. Resting her hands upon her lap, the Decepticon female folded her wings over and prepared herself for the wait.

"Good idea," Air Lock smiled, dropped to his aft while the lift came to a stop, and mimicked her pose. He had been doing that for most of the night. "You may want to open your eyes. This is going to get pretty."

She did not acknowledge him. Instead, the black and blue female tranquilized her emotions and stretched out her senses. Focusing upon the shape of the lift, the natural vibrations of the idling support cables, the ebb and flow and sway as Air Lock shifted his weight ever closer to the female - Misery readied herself should any motion deviate from the norm.

"So . . ." he scooted until he was within a meter of her. "Aren't you going to ask me why I haven't turned you in?"

"You are a Maximal," she contested. "It is in your nature to annoy me with such trivialities."

"Okay, point taken, but - it's only fun if you ask," he grinned, despite his companion's inability to see him with her eyes shut. The distant clap of thunder caught their attention, and both immediately turned to the right. Through the green haze of the shield, the two observed the first signs of the combustion as several small, contained explosions occurred.

"I understand. The oxygen levels are maintained through the application of randomized micro-combustions."

"In other words," he padded in front of her on his hands and knees, sat down so he could no longer be ignored, and touted, "rain."

"It is a unique approach, I admit," Misery turned back to him with brow furrowed, but otherwise showed no interest beyond what was necessary. "You claim that you know my intentions. Yet if you do, why do you not speak out? Why do you not warn Depth Charge? Why do you not arrest me?"

He hesitated, "Because I'm selfish." The red jet shifted so he sat seiza-style, gauntlets resting on either poleyn. Bowing his helm in thought, Air Lock continued, "I like to think that maybe by talking to you I can dissuade you from your current course of action. Maybe I can stop you with just words and none of it will have to happen. None of it will have to occur. No one will have to _die_."

"You take a great risk upon yourself by telling me what you know," she said. Mentally, she added, _Especially since I will kill you if you stand against me._

"Aye, that I do. But I would hope that you could maybe find it courageous on my part." Though he refused to meet her optics, at that moment he found a calming distraction from the artificial rain that began pelting the shield in erratic bursts. The eldest twin focused upon the words of his father that had haunted him for years. Omicron would fall, but Primus-be-damned if he couldn't at least try to talk sense to the Decepticon female. "Misery, I don't want to fight you. I know I can't win. But please, for the sake of everyone here . . . I don't want our time together to end."

"What time together, child?" she huffed. "Do not claim such an attraction to me or anyone in such a short amount of time. You cannot fathom time until you have lived as long as I have."

"Of course," he bowed his helm, "I forget that you're older than you appear. What is it - nine? Ten million stellarcycles? This moment is just a blink to you. Not even a blink. It's just . . ." Air Lock trailed off, considered whether he should continue to press her, yet found he could not master the words to express his concern. Rising his helm to meet the next claps of thunder and rain, he tried to imagine the rain cleansing his conscience of the guilt and depression he felt towards the colony's imminent destruction. "Damnit, I really am selfish."

"You will die here," Misery declared sedately.

Her bluntness caught his spark between pulses, forced a new sense of dread upon him, and became that all too clear reminder of his fate. "I-"

"By relating my plans to you, your sire has given you a choice." Misery climbed to her feet and loomed over the Autobot-sired. Outside the lift, the automated system declared itself only moments from cleansing the ward of the oxygen gas. "You can either stay here and die, or you can run away like a coward."

"Misery, I can't just-"

"I know of no sire who would willingly commit his children to death if he did not believe they had an inkling of an escape. You are perfectly capable of surviving this encounter. All you must ask of yourself is whether you can knowingly do so while condemning so many." For the briefest moment, the blue and black female permitted a smile to grace her lips. "As a matter of fact, why not convince your most intimate of _friends_ to go with you."

"Damnit, Misery, it's not that simple!" He slammed his gauntlet against the floor in emphasis, vehemently thrashed his helm from side to side, and clenched both optics tight. "I can't just leave people here to die, Misery!" Thrusting himself up, he turned to face her, but found the space where she had been devoid. "Misery?" he gasped, searching the lift. The shield remained in tact, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Misery?" he called again, stretching his arms out and swiping them about the lift. His gesture went without success, and he discovered that he had been left to himself, trapped in an impromptu, temporary cage. "What the hell?"

* * *

><p>"Most generous of you," Misery patted the arm of her second while they slipped into the shadows between buildings.<p>

"You looked ready to kill him. What was he saying that had you so angry?" the other asked.

"His sire knows of what we are about," she said matter-of-factly. Waiting until Stricture was at her immediate side, she continued, "Our time-table must be changed."

"We're ahead of schedule," Stricture whispered. "If we succeed tonight, then we can move within the next five megacycles."

"It must do." Misery rapped her dactyls upon the shipping entrance, and was greeted by a like-coloured male. "Hail, brother."

"Hail, sister," Minstrel replied. Ushering the two inside, he said, "We're about to shut down now that the rain's stopped. Come inside and we'll talk after everyone leaves."

"Excellent," she preened.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Odin, time for you to go recharge," Masquerade shouldered the larger, overcharged mech to the door and thrust him out. Fastening the locking system into place, the black and blue female trotted across the stage to the back stairwell, launched gracefully down to the basement door, and locked it behind her. "That's the last of them," she announced, taking a tray from the bar and serving her brothers and guests with their private stock of oil.<p>

"It's a pleasure to see you again, sister," Machiavellian toasted the assembled, threw back his drink, then rubbed at his mouth. "This room's safe. I've already cleared it."

Misery raised her left gauntlet casually, signaling to Stricture who in turn disappeared in a burst of multicoloured haze. Mace, who was the closest, jumped back and drew his guns, targeting the space the flyer had just occupied.

"Easy, big gruesome," Masquerade wrestled her hand over Mace's and beckoned him to stand down.

"Stricture is no threat to you," Misery cocked her helm to the side, glaring over her pauldron at the bouncer. "He has gone to collect my third, that we may discuss business."

"Yes, what brings you here?" Malice gnarled from his seat at the table.

"All of you sit down before I have to make you," Machiavellian barked, eyeing his brothers and sister to the table. "Misery, speak when you're ready."

With little effort, Misery inclined her helm in the same direction that Stricture had disappeared from, only to catch a _clap-hiss_ and fresh smoke as her second and third entered the room. She waited long enough for the two to flank her wings before nodding to the assembled Decepticons. "I presume you all understood that Scrapper has been freed."

"Yes, how did you . . . ?" Machiavellian raised an eye arch.

Misery raised a hand in Stricture's direction. "My second ensured that the tag was left to detonate in the warehouse." Behind her, Stricture grinned with swollen pride as she continued, "As for my business here: Xyston has been found. I intend to release him."

What little noise had filtered between the others instantly died. If it were at all possible, their faces would have paled save for Machiavellian's. "We remember what he can do, sister. If you can guarantee our pardon from his . . . _thirst_, then we will consent to help you."

"Taciturn?" Misery drummed her dactyls about the brim of her chalice.

Nodding, the red and black male stepped forward, hoisted a holographic display upon the table and indicated to the appropriate sections. "We have secured the building next to the facility where they are holding Xyston. Escape routes are highlighted in yellow here, here, and here," he pointed to each one, "and word is spreading amongst the miners to vacate the colony to minimize the deaths to our supporters. We require only a plausible distraction to pull the chief of security away from his post and into a killbox _here_."

"What has Depth Charge done to specifically warrant his death?" Minstrel interjected, crossing his arms disapprovingly. "As I recall, he's done more for the miners than any previous security chief."

Since the question had been directed to Misery, she answered without airs. "That boy is cumbersome to my plans. I want him removed and discredited for his failure to protect this white gem of the Maximal Imperium."

"I thought that was my prerogative," Malice slapped the table and hooted. "I never suspected _you_ would be one for such a spiteful move."

Misery gave her brother a fierce grimace. "We possess all range of emotions, despite the symbolization of our names."

"How true," Muffle interrupted, much to everyone's surprise. "Though the security chief's personal inclusion in your plans says volumes for his quality as a commanding officer. Misery, am I correct to presume that he is talented enough to overtake us if not dealt with first?"

Taciturn flicked an unnoticed glance to his wingmate, then to Misery. "Depth Charge," Misery began. She took a moment to choose her words, then continued, "He is a Maximal disenfranchised with the whims of the High Council. It is my belief that he would abstain from suppress and arrest protocols in favour of belligerent tactics. He must assuredly be first priority in this scheme."

Agreement rang through the siblings, and they pressed for their sister to continue. "Taciturn and Stricture will handle the particulars with regards to Xyston. Since I am privileged to the security tower, I shall ensure that the colony goes into complete lockdown. Once freed, Xyston will have run of this colony."

"Oooh," Masquerade quivered and looked about with half-lidded optics. "This is going to be one hell of a party."

"Misery," Machiavellian grunted, "I have a question to ask."

She didn't have to second guess his request. "Stricture. Taciturn. Leave." Before the red and black male could contest the order, the silver and blue Decepticon hooked an arm around the other and they disappeared in a flash. She said, "Ask."

Machiavellian, the elected speaker for the siblings, charged her verbally with sullen brashness. "We agreed uniformly to refrain from large-scale action until a plan could be formed against the Maximals. Why are you moving without our approval?"

"As I know you have guaranteed the security of this chamber, I divulge without apprehension: Galvatron _is_ Lord Megatron."

"You can't be serious," Minstrel shook his helm as if trying to ward off the idea.

The others exchanged uneasy glances while Machiavellian broached the subject. "How do you know? How can you be sure? Was it not true that Starscream killed him after the battle of Autobot City?"

"Approximately nine stellarcycles ago, I was called in by the Tripredacus Council on order from Galvatron. Yes, he is still alive but lost to insanity. In a moment of clarity, he named me as candidate to an operation, then identified himself to me in private."

"Then . . . ?" Mace looked to Machiavellian, the oldest of the brothers.

Misery added, "My actions to date are in unity with our orders. It is to you, Machiavellian, brother eldest, to issue the proclamation."

"I have no reason to doubt you, dear sister. Your word has always been true to us," Machiavellian rose to his feet and spread his gauntlets upon the table. "_Operation: Silver Future _is in effect. We must see to it that our brethren and sistren are gathered."

"Yes!" Masquerade threw her hands into the air as she climbed to her feet. "It's about time we put those Maximals on their place." Twirling around the table, she threw her arms around her sister and put it to her audios, "If your lover boy is the first step towards that goal, then I'm all for it. Let's tear this place apart."

"I'm ready to put the hurting to these Maximals," Mace grunted, sharing a congratulatory punch with Malice.

"Let us begin," Misery said.

* * *

><p><em>~"So that's where you've been hiding,"~<em> Air-slake's bust filled the monitor above his twin's berth.

Rolling onto his back, Air Lock shielded his eyes from the bright lights radiating upon him. "Look, I know what you're going to say, so can we just skip the lecture and let me go back to sleep?"

_~"Do you realize what jeopardy you've put us in? No only did you ignore Father's wishes to stay away from her, you pointedly made yourself an obstacle to their relationship."~ He frowned, scowled, and alternated with a grimace. ~"Are you purposefully stupid, or are you actively trying to undo our future?"~_

"You may have given up and accepted what Father said about this colony, but I'm not going to give up and die." Sitting up, the red and white jet draped his arm over his knee and pinched at his brow. "I've made a decision. Since I know you won't side with me and corroborate what we know to Depth Charge and the others . . ." he raised his helm, stared down the image of his brother, and cut the transmission only after saying, "I'm leaving."

* * *

><p>Shock Therapy reclined into the network of cables that supported her. Fingers drummed against her chin as she considered the various surveillance images of Misery interacting with not only Depth Charge and the security team, but also with Stricture and Taciturn at various points across the colony. "I tell you, she is up to something."<p>

_~"Knowing her character, I advise you to offer collusion than opposition. Misery is not a Decepticon to be antagonized."~_

"I do value my self-preservation above all else," she adjusted in her swing-like seat of cables, drew up a collection of monitors with Misery walking next to Air Lock; Misery and Air Lock seated in the lift during the rainstorm; and Misery meeting with Minstrel and Stricture in the alleyway. "These are the latest reels I've managed to collect. Any thoughts?"

_~"The silver one is her second in command, Stricture. He's a teleporter. The one who looks like her is also an inactive member of the Void."~_

"I don't like that she's meeting with Air Raid's sired. It doesn't bode well for her character, in my opinion."

_~"Do not be brash in your conclusion. Here,"~_ the image of the two in the lift overtook the other displays until it was the largest one. _~"See her expression? I've seen that same look on Lord Megatron's face when he tolerated someone long enough for their usefulness. She has no sentimental ties to that mongrel."~_

"If you say so," she closed the monitors and resized the audio file from the corner of her screen. "I cannot say that I agree with you after seeing the images of her from tonight, but if your conclusion is to aid her, then I will abide by your decision."

_~"Never forget, Shock Therapy,"~_ the equalizer disappeared and was replaced with a violet mask and a singular orb similar to her own. _~"You are a Decepticon first, Tripredacus agent second. If it comes to aiding the Council or connivancy with the Void, you choose the Void."~_

Knowing he would only show his face to convey the gravity of the situation, she agreed, "Yes, grandfather."


	6. A Dangerous Mind

_Beast Wars and all related belong to Hasbro. The story, its original contents and ideas, and any original characters belong to the author and cannot be used or reprinted without the author's permission._

_**Disclaimer:**__ No money, no rights, no life. I own all original characters unless otherwise specified._

_**Dedications:**__ Like usual, the story is dedicated to the writers for their excellent work. It's also dedicated to all the voice actors, especially David Sobolov and Campbell Lane, for bringing these wonderful characters (especially my favourites) to life. As well as the writers of Beast Wars, it's also for the people I love in hopes that this will show that one day I can do something better._

_**Author's notes:**__ Well, this it - the turning point. In its first state, there was a lot of the same ideas, but not enough cohesion to hold the story together. I ended up taking a step back from it for a time, reflecting on what worked and didn't work. Then, like the previous chapter, Air Lock started chitchatting in my head again, which resulted in this being longer, more in depth, and not just focused upon what Misery and her team were doing._

* * *

><p><strong>Epoch:<strong>

**A Dangerous Mind**

**Joshin Yasha** (joshinyasha at yahoo dot com)

* * *

><p>"You ever stop to think that what we're doing may kill us in the long run?"<p>

"What'd you say?" Stricture asked. Crossing the room to step up behind his wingmate, he draped his arms over the back of the chair and stared at the screen.

Having wired himself to the computer for a simpler way of processing data, Taciturn was typing furiously with only his mind while his body rested comfortably in his chair. With unmoving lips, his voice filtered through the speakers, "I was saying, do you ever think maybe releasing Xyston is a bad idea? Considering the last time we saw him he tried to eat us."

"Would you want to be left for dead and treated as an experiment for the rest of your immortal life?" the silver and blue Decepticon began reading the screen, catching brief bits of information as his red and black counterpart worked hastily with his telemetry. "It's better for us to release the poor bastard now than to let him get out on his own. He only tried to kill us because he was disoriented and thought Misery had betrayed him. This is our chance to make amends and prove we're still on his side. Better to be allied with the Fallen than under his heel, I always say."

"When have you ever once said that?" Taciturn glanced over his pauldron, a clear smirk on his face. The computer's speakers continued to speak for him, "Every once in a while you say something intelligent, and I think you might just have what it takes to be second to our captain."

Stricture chose to disregard his companion's comment while dropping into the seat next to Taciturn, returning instead to their previous modus operandi. "It was pure luck that Esoteric was involved with TRUNDLE."

"Misery did good," Taciturn smirked and licked as his still non-speaking lips. "Everything's about ready. The countdown has been set for one-point-five orns. You have your access code for the TRUNDLE building, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded affirmatively, then gestured with his helm that he was curious. "Just remember what Misery told you and don't engage the twins without backup. There's no telling what Air Raid might have told them about us."

"This is ridiculous." The red and black male began snarling with narrowed eyes. "I want to tear them apart. Those retched Autobot-sired of Air Raid's will pay for what he did to us. I'll smelt them both to the tallest walls I can find just as soon as I get my hands on them." In emphasis, the pores opened in his hands and flares sputtered into the space around him.

"You'll do well to remember that Misery's word goes. Besides," Stricture grinned, wrapped his arms around Taciturn's pauldrons, and chuckled mischievously, "I'd hate to see her have to get rid of you. I'm only now getting used to you."

The red and black Decepticon gave the other a skeptical grin.

The second stood up, ran his eyes over the screen, and then mused, "You realize that if things go as planned, then we're going to have over ten thousand bodies on our hands."

"Correction," Taciturn puckered his mouth in thought, then smirked once more, "Xyston will be doing most of the killing . . . Hn? What's this?"

"What's what?" Stricture leaned over his wing mate's pauldrons. "Oh, it's a message."

"It's from Machiavellian," Taciturn narrowed his red eyes disapprovingly, "I thought we agreed upon radio silence."

"It must be important for him to break silence then," the gold, silver, and blue Decepticon tilted his head, watching as the message flashed across the monitor, was instantly dissected by Taciturn, and then the underlying code of the message displayed as it was meant to be.

"He wants to meet Misery in private." Taciturn cocked his head to the side, "Says for you to bring her to Ward Six in fifteen cycles to these coordinates for a private meeting."

"Bold of him to think he can order me around." Stricture was suspicious, but he allowed himself to have a cynical grin. "Regardless, it's for Misery to decide if she goes or not. It is only our place to relay the message."

"Indeed." Taciturn began relaying a message onward, then settled back into his seat. "If Misery's message has gotten to all the miners in the past megacycle, any stragglers will make a run for it after the first explosion. But I question if Machiavellian and his ilk will do their job as agreed."

"My brother's reputation of loyalty will ensure he does not fail," Misery interjected upon closing the door, catching the last part of the conversation and causing the two to turn and face her. "They are useful at this stage, and Machiavellian's request has roused my curiosity."

Taciturn withdrew his cables from the computer, turned in his seat, and began to speak normally, "Does this mean that you're going to meet with him?"

Oddly, and for the first time in many years that Stricture and Taciturn could remember, Misery shrugged her pauldrons. "It is something clandestine from my factory brother. I do not presume to know what he wishes to discuss. Be advised, Stricture, you will be asked to leave for the duration of our conference." She approached the two and took the moment to set her hands on either of their helms. Leaning in between the two, she viewed the monitors as the wingmates gazed at her wearily. "Any disagreement from you both will not be tolerated upon the subject."

Stricture went silent before putting into words what he thought Misery might want to hear. "No disagreement from us, captain. We are ever your loyal soldiers." Misery glanced to the left across her pauldron and gave an exasperated sigh. Taking the hint, Stricture continued. "Cybershark has been brought up to speed regarding the plan. He'll see to it that Depth Charge is alone in the target zone when we strike."

Rolling her head and cracking her neck, Misery glared viciously at the screen. "So be it. I entrust _ma modestie_ to your ever loyal hands, my second. Have a care - Xyston's wrath will be insatiable once he is free."

That being said, Misery turned and laid a firm hand upon Stricture's gauntlet and squeezed tightly. "Now is the time, our plans must not fail. Take me to Machiavellian, and we shall see to his business."

"As you command," said Stricture. He wrapped his other hand over hers and teleported them both away.

* * *

><p>Machiavellian spoke only after Stricture had been ordered to leave by the Decepticon female, "Discretion was needed, for we had to speak alone."<p>

She took the time to carefully inspect him, then the ramshackle room. Discovering no silhouettes lying in wait, Misery enlivened herself to speak. "What has brought about this meeting?"

"In my time with our brothers and sister, I have learned many of their secrets, but only one has warranted reprimand." Machiavellian drew a short breath, somber thoughts threatening to make themselves known in his tone.

Misery snerked, mouth a snarl, "Then speak succinctly. What has happened?"

"Masquerade has broken Megatron's third decree," he grunted. Tossing a data pad to the female Decepticon, he continued to speak as she read. "I found those records only recently."

She narrowed crimson optics before closing the data pad and returning it to her brother. "Is she aware of your surveillance?"

"No," he answered. "I discovered it two stellarcycles ago. She has made no attempt to dispose of me, so I presume she is unaware I have gained the knowledge. On the matter, I have theorized a means to dispose of her, but not without incurring the retaliation of Mace and Minstrel."

Misery raised an eyearch at this revelation. "Why should they seek revenge upon you?"

" 'Rade has never been one to contain herself. She has had a standing relationship with both Mace and Minstrel for as long as I have worked with them, possibly even longer."

Misery pondered this, rubbed at her bevor, then decided, "If they chose loyalty to Masquerade over obedience to Lord Megatron, then there is no discretion to be made. All three must die."

"The suspicion would have been upon me had I done it alone, but I agree and condescend to your decision. By whatever method you so choose, I believe we should do so without indicting ourselves."

Misery agreed. "I know how to divert suspicion . . ."

* * *

><p>The door hissed and slammed shut behind her, and Misery was greeted by an uncountable number of screens of varying sizes and shapes, each with the image of Shock Therapy's face. <em>~"I normally don't allow anyone into my sanctuaries, but for a fellow Decepticon sister I felt I could make an exception. What do you want, and be clear, Misery, I do hate to have the shuttle shot around."~<em>

"Such a contemplative measure that reflects my intentions," the blue and black female took several paces to close the distance between herself and the screens. "Only a true Decepticon would be so succinct."

_Shock Therapy flashed interest in her singular yellow orb, ~"You wish to discuss lineage. Go on."~_

"I have a proposal, meant only for a loyal Decepticon."

_The purple coloured female pondered a moment, then the various monitors framing her face rippled into the same smirk. ~"My grandsire once told about the Autobot killer. Would you like to hear what he said?"~ When she realized Misery was waiting to be humoured, she continued with the tale. ~"He said the Autobot killer was once a computer, once_ the_ computer. Renowned as the Echs-Server, he was the central computer brain of the planet In-A-Gadda. When we Cybertronians took hold of their underdeveloped world, the Echs-Server manifested itself inside the Autobot mobile unit, the Teletran Two model."~_

Misery smirked at this. Apparently Shockwave had not revealed the particulars to his sired.

_~"Such a magnificent computer, designed by an underdeveloped civilization, yet already perfect in its form. It was capable, grandfather said, of understanding our race, for it was already alive and _thinking_."~ Shock Therapy chuckled, voice almost nostalgic. ~"A sentient computer that the Autobots attempted to use for their own purposes because we Decepticons had overlooked it. Had we of known -had my grandfather _known_- then the Echs-Server would have been deactivated before its full capabilities were known. _

_~"But, I digress . . . it fused itself with the technology of Teletran Two. But it wanted revenge for its enslavement since the Autobots had tied its core into the Autobot ship. The Echs-Server was fueled by its hatred and it wanted to inflict pain upon the Autobots. You see, as the technological hub of In-A-Gadda it had been free, able to jump from one computer to another, able to move about the planet - to them it was just as much of a god as Primus is to us. But under the Autobots it was nothing more than a slave, a subject to do their bidding and confined to one computer. So sad that such a beautiful essence had been trapped, unable to move._

_~"Thus, like any trapped beast, it became angry, and the Echs-Server began to understand the concepts of pain, war, and emotions. It began to feel, not just think. But then, it fixated upon a creature that fought endlessly against the Autobots, no matter the pain she endured. This creature was you, sister Misery. Echs-Server became curious and watched you with interest, and because of this fixation, he wanted to touch you, to explore the reasoning behind your absurd masochism. It began to escape the cocoon of the ship and explore what the Autobots had built upon its world._

_~"And he began to ponder what would happen if he used the metal from In-A-Gadda to create a body to mock our own. Secretly he built it, and secretly the Echs-Server separated itself from the ship. When the Autobots were under an attack by your squad, it surprised them from the inside and killed them. It started calling itself Exodus to mock our names and to celebrate its liberation from the ship. When you entered, Exodus seduced you. He wanted to rule you, but you just can't be ruled, can you? He understood that, yet he swore allegiance to Lord Megatron if you promised to be his."~_

If Misery had any less control of herself, she would have been doubled over with laughter. How silly a tale had been spun to this monitor - Shock Therapy obviously had no idea of Xyston's _true_ origins, let alone her bargain with the behemoth.

_~"And you, in Decepticon fashion, accepted his deal and gave him a name more representative of his rebellious nature. Xyston, the name of the pikes used to set heads upon after an uprising. You named him. Now he is free to wander and exact his revenge upon the Autobots. Such a twisted tale, wouldn't you say?"~_

"Indeed," Misery grinned sardonically, "who better to know my past than myself?"

_~"I told you that story so you would understand my request, Misery."~_ The monitors that held Shock Therapy's face pulled away and disappeared. The lights in the darkened room flashed, and the body of the purple Decepticon lowered from the ceiling, wires and support cables spewing out from various ports. "I want to dream in digital, Misery. Make me like the Echs-Server once was, free my mind from this body so that I might exist in every Cybertronian computer throughout the universe."

"A logical proposal." Misery made her way across the slapdash floor. Lights began to come alive under the flooring, and it became evident that not only were there mobile monitors in the room, but the floors, as well as the walls and ceiling, had been turned into a gigantic grid of visual screens. Through this, Misery surmised, Shock Therapy could use all the cameras of Omicron to highlight every screen to create an illusion for anyone who stood in the center to feel as if they were in any part of Omicron they so chose. "In exchange, I require this . . ."

Shock Therapy looked puzzled, but reached out with an animatronic arm to clasp the data disk that her fellow Decepticon held above her head. The purple female inserted the disk into a local drive and read the elements of it in a matter of nanoclicks. "I see . . ." she grinned, a chortle rising from her throat. "So that's your plan. How cunning of you, sister Misery. I will enjoy this plan very much."

"Xyston will transport you to the digital world as you ask. In this, we bargain," the immortal female crossed her arms and awaited the conformation from the other.

"I know the worth of your word, Misery, and I accept the terms of our arrangement. I eagerly await the moment when I can finally dream in digital instead of this chaotic imitation. And, Misery," she lifted her helm, looking down her bridge at the black and blue female, "understand that should you fail to complete your end, I shall expose your plans to all."

"I have no doubts," she gave a murky expression, flipped open the comm. link on her gauntlet when her internal computer alerted her to the transmission, and read the encoded message. It was from Cybershark; he relayed that he had received her orders, but now he had the misfortune of the Air Twins' company, from which he so dreadfully wanted reprieve. "I must away, Shock Therapy."

"As you please, Misery," Shock Therapy called after the blue and black female just as the door shut. To herself, she said, "No longer shall I be constrained to this limited body . . ."

* * *

><p>It was half a megacycle later when the twins, Cybershark, and Misery strolled down the heavily reinforced stairwell to the security headquarters. The latter enjoyed the view through the one-way windows that lined the outer wall from the first floor to the top floor. Or rather, she envisioned what would soon be taking place outside those windows, and just how sadistically sublime the view <em>would<em> become.

The twins were engaged in a heated conversation revolving around the conjugation of Karnasian words compared to the Karnasians' ability to communicate. Misery and Cybershark were vastly disinterested.

"I'm telling you," Air Lock wrung his hands, "with only two vowels and nine consonants, the Karnasians, linguistically speaking, should not be able to communicate with one another above basic levels of interactions."

"Ah, but you neglect the fact that the Karnasians can combine words to make new words, and elongate the amount of time spent on one consonant or more to change the meaning of one word into another," Air-slake reminded, out gesturing his brother with his hands while he spoke.

"Would you two just-_Shut. Up._" Cybershark barked. Tired of listening to their argument, which had been going on for the past hour and varying only on the topic of races, the second rubbed at his snout. "I have fly-through in two quarteces, can you be quiet for at least that long?"

_~"I hate to interrupt this darling moment,"~ Shock Therapy's face lit a screen on the upcoming wall as the four continued their descent of the stairs. Coming to a halt, the monitor continued with the reason that she had contacting them, "A body has been found in Ward Five."~_

"Any particulars?" Cybershark inquired for the sake of appearances. He was already well-aware of the situation. He had been there when Stricture had made the corpse just public enough to be found.

_~"No, but the body is intact for the most part. It's not a level one priority, so I haven't notified Depth Charge yet. I was hoping one of you could take a look."~_

Cybershark nodded, "The twins should have no problem handling it." The two jumped to attention, fully aware that they had just been volunteered for something. He turned to the two and narrowed his eyes, finger pointed accusingly at the two. "I want a _legible_ report, Air Lock, not some screwing around this time."

"Fine, fine," Air Lock clasped his gantlets behind his helm, smiling innocently as he did. If it weren't for the stern look he got from his brother, he would have said more to antagonize the second. Instead, he turned and had already walked away when he added, "I'll get right on that!"

"Yeah, you better . . ."

Misery and Cybershark waited for the twins to disappear down the stairs and out the doors to the dispatching platform. Before beginning their conversation, Shock Therapy verified the hallway for privacy, then Cybershark said, "Game's set."

"Indeed," Misery nodded, acknowledging Shock Therapy's image that was still hovering omnisciently over their pauldrons. "Wait until they are in Ward Five before signaling Machiavellian."

_~"Understood,"~_ the display went black.

The Decepticon female turned her gaze back to the teal Maximal. "Go to your position. We are ready to begin." Cybershark closed his red eyes, nodded, breathed once through the pores on his muzzle, and finally disappeared down the stairwell in a rush.

To herself, Misery thought, _Soon, Xyston._

* * *

><p>"Hey," Air Lock stopped meters from the door to the platform, turned to his brother with a serious face, and said, "can I meet you there? I need to check something real fast."<p>

"Look, about earlier, I'm sorry about the lecture," Air-slake began.

"No worries. I know you were concerned, and I know I act out." The eldest shoved down a sigh he had meant to take, only to find himself drowning in his brother's concern. "Don't worry. I'm sorry. I'm okay. I just gotta take care of this, okay? I'll meet you there."

"Okay, but don't be long."

"I won't," Air Lock reaffirmed by patting his brother on the pauldron. "I'll be along shortly."

* * *

><p>The departmental branch of Tyr Corp that stood alongside the TRUNDLE research facility was empty of the 35 commissioned workers. Normally, they would be busying about their daily tasks of measuring resource distribution for their 700-odd branches across the universe. Upon discharging thirteen of the employees due to "downsizing of branches", and then "promoting" another nine to positions at various other branches (whom were all now on their way to being surprised at the falsified documents and confused managers), Taciturn and Stricture had been left with the remaining workers. They easily made short work of them once they became isolated targets throughout the building.<p>

Currently, Taciturn stood at the tinted windows, running diagnostic scans over the neighbouring building, detecting weak points in the security and also comparing the layout to the blueprints they had acquired from their mech on the inside. "Stricture, I believe I have found the security room," the red and black Decepticon announced to his wingmate.

"Good, gimme the coordinates and I'll get moving," the gold and blue male said as he cleared the immediate area of the temporary scanning equipment Taciturn had set up.

Taciturn tossed the forearm hookup to his wingmate, then held up his hand in a waiting gesture. "When I tell you, teleport to those coordinates. Since the room will be clear for approximately three minutes you'll have time to attach the transmitter to their systems and it'll reroute the grid back to me. I'll have complete control and I'll be able to walk you through."

"I got it, don't worry," he smiled, flicked his wrist to ensure mobility with the device attached, and when Taciturn's hand dropped he found himself being pulled across space and materializing feet first in an empty surveillance room. Stricture all but dove under the computer panel, removed the transmitter from his forearm, and attached it to the underside where it would not immediately be detected. "Tass, you reading me?"

_~"Affirmative,"~_ the deep voice came across the comm. link. _~"In about thirty nanoclicks, the shift change will arrive. Security looks simplistic enough on the upper levels that there'll only be one guard for the cameras. I suggest using your energon blade once he's in the room."~_

Stricture spun on his heels, extended the energon blade from the back of his left forearm, and held it across his chest. Forcing his way into as small a space as possible, the gold and blue seeker narrowed his golden-hued crimson eyes towards the door, awaiting the arrival of the guard. Almost on cue, the door to the security room slid open and a squat, surly robot waddled into the room and sat down at the monitoring screens. The poor fellow never saw it coming until the blade had pierced through his backside and out the front of his chest. "Sla-" was the last thing he muttered before going offline.

"Alright," he withdrew his blade and tapped at his helm to open a private communication link. "I should have three megacycles, more than enough time. Tass?" he unholstered his sidearm, charged the weapon, and then stood next to the door. "Where's my next clear room?"

_~"Coordinates two-three-dash-four-zero-dash-eight-four. There's only two life forms in the room. It'll take you down five flights, but I'm still isolating a large energy cluster. I think that is where they'll be studying his major limbs."~_

"Whatever gets me there fast. And here we go," he said, leaving a dust cloud of gold, silver, and blue behind him.

* * *

><p><em>~"We have a problem,"~<em> Shock Therapy radioed to Misery. _~"Air Lock is not on his mark. I show him headed for Dock One."~_

_Slag,_ Misery paused, rapped her comm. link, and said, "He is running."

_~"This is not starting out well, Misery. I detest when things don't go right."~_

"We are on a time-table. Either convince him to stay or to go. I care not which, but deal with him," she hissed, then paced faster towards the antechamber that lead to the offices where Jazz³ would be.

_~"And how am I to convince him?"~_

"Be his therapist," she spat, cut the transmission, and turned the corner gracefully into the common room without any indication that something had gone awry.

* * *

><p>The red and white jet turned the lever over, walked down the plank into the side of the empty shuttle, and climbed into the cockpit.<p>

There was no way he was staying. The idea of spending his last days on Omicron wrenched his spark, and even though his brother may have accepted the fate inscribed upon their unwritten epitaph, Air Lock would not have it. Harnessing himself into the pilot's seat, he went through the ignition sequence and listened to the wakening rumble of the engines. "Control tower, this is Security Officer Air Lock, requesting clearance to launch from Hanger Four."

There was silence on the other end, so he called a second time. "Control tower, this is Air Lock. I need clearance to launch from Hanger Four."

_~"Is Cybershark aware that you're playing hooky from your assignment?"~_

The red Maximal released the sigh he'd been holding. " 'Therapy. You gonna tell on me?"

_~"Depends on if you're gonna let me in on why you're not assisting your brother."~_

"Heh," he rasped. " 'Slake can handle himself. Besides, I didn't get much rest earlier. I need a little extra time to clear my head of some things."

_~"Misery not interested, I take it?"~_

His voice cracked, "You were watching?"

_~"I'm a monitor. I see everything through the cameras, but I don't hear the finer details."~_

"Yeah," he swallowed, hands tightening on the controls. "She didn't succumb to my good charms."

_~"Such a shame. You are at least more interesting than Depth Charge."~_

He laughed at the comparison. For all the praise Depth Charge had received from the academy, Air Lock never thought of himself even in the same league as the leviathan. He used his laugh to suppress his anxiety, and inquired, "You really think so?"

_~"You're the son of Air Raid. Far more interesting than a meager grunt soldier working his way up the ranks."~ Shock Therapy considered her next phrasing carefully. ~"Misery is a fool if she doesn't prefer a prince to a pauper."~_

"That's . . ." Air Lock wiped at his optics with one hand, but watched the hanger gate lights count down overhead towards depressurization. In a few moments, he'd be cleared and headed for the jump gate back to Cybertron. " 'Therapy, are you flirting with me?"

_~"Depends. Do you want it to be flirting?"~ She allowed the faintest lilt into her voice to feign attraction. _Good_, she thought,_ he's falling for it.

He evinced his amusement across his lips. "My, my. I never thought you would be one to flirt with a Maximal." The lights above were tinting from yellow to green, then began the agonizing slither to blue.

_~"Sometimes I step out of my comfort zone and surprise people."~_

The gate was clear, and all he had to do was squeeze the controls and ease forward out of the hanger.

But he found he was frozen, unable to force his hands to move. He asked, " 'Therapy?"

_~"Yes?"~_

"You ever been asked to do something you didn't want to agree with, even though you knew deep down you had to do it?"

Silence.

" 'Therapy?"

_~". . .Every day I am made to accept the status I've been dealt, even though I do not agree with the restrictions placed upon the Decepticons and Predacons. I have long ago resigned, because if I act out then it means harsher punishments and fates for those of my kind."~_

"That's more of an answer than I had hoped for," he licked at his lips, bit one, and eyed his hands speculatively. If it weren't for that invisible rope around his hands, he'd be out the hanger and gone by now, leaving everyone to their individual fates.

Just one millimeter on the trigger, and the engines would ignite. A tip of his wrist and he'd be climbing for the gate. Now he just needed to cut that restraint keeping him from going.

"Damnit," he swore in more languages than he should. "It's not that hard, all I have to do is go."

_~"You're cleared for launch,"~ the female Decepticon suggested._

And so he made his decision.

* * *

><p>Manoeuver heard their footsteps before he even saw them. Shoving the last of his crew down the old escape route that they had tunneled into the asteroid in preparation for collapses, the tired ganger hobbled over the mining equipment that had been knocked over in the rush to escape. "Ye didn' give us much time!"<p>

"If they could not pick up and leave in a megacycle, then they do not deserve to leave of their own volition," Machiavellian chided. Helping the old miner upon the platform, he clapped from him the general muck that could seemingly magnetize to each miner, despite how recently they might have cleaned themselves. "Is that the last of them?"

"T'ey ar' the last o' mine. Vulture's got the north cave, an' Cra'ate 'as the south."

"They better run, then," Masquerade stepped forward, laughter echoing her steps down the caverns that branched to the deeper sites. "Cause time's out."

Before the ganger could protest in defense of the remaining miners, Malice caught the mech by the arm and held him fast. Machiavellian, seeing to his timer, clicked the first switch that set off the first round of explosives that had been planted throughout the adjoining bulkhead to wards Eight and Nine.

"I's 'till got mechs in 'ere!" he struggled, but instantly had his brow shoved into the platform. Behind him, Malice wrenched the older mech's right arm clean from his body, eliciting a vehement scream from the other.

"And what's a mining explosion without a few corpses?" Masquerade cackled.

"Never question our decision," Machiavellian stated matter-of-factly. Never once did he turn to face the ganger, but his unspoken order was enough for Malice to summarily execute the mech with a plasma bullet to the back of his armour. Manoeuver screamed only until the plasma corroded through to his spark.

"Was that truly necessary?" Minstrel impassively blinked, cocked his helm to the side, and further stated, "I rather liked the old 'con."

Machiavellian slowly, deliberately turned and locked eyes with his brother. Neither said a word, but the threat was there - if Minstrel questioned a second time, he'd be the one eating the next bullet.

* * *

><p>"What. The hell. Was <em>that<em>?" Jazz³ blinked, drew up his computer to check the structural integrity of the various wards, but was interrupted by Shock Therapy's face on his screen.

_~"I've detected an explosion in Ward Nine. I've alerted Depth Charge, and Cybershark is already on his way. Cybershark wants the twins to stay on task, but I'm overwhelmed filtering the reports coming in from the emergency calls. Can you help me dispatch the twins, yes or no?"~_

"Yes," he rasped. "Do you want me to come up there?"

_~"Negative. Just see to the Twins."~_

The screen went blank before Jazz³ could retort, but he sat about his duty. "Hey guys, you read me?"

_~"Loud and clear. What was that? Felt it all the way down here in Five."~_

"Explosion from one of the mining tunnels. I think they may have hit something. Boss-bot and tricky fishy are heading there now. I don't think we'll be needed, but stand by protocol and radio me first if you discover anything down there."

_~"Sure thing,"~ Air-slake replied, though with some hesitation to his voice._

"Hey, you two okay?" Jazz³ swiped his hand over his interactive screen, intending to draw up the video feed for the twins' position, but found the screen unresponsive. The remote camera must have been disconnected by whomever had dumped the body.

_~"Yes,"~ Air-slake stared at the empty space in the alley where his brother should have been standing. He lied, ~"We're fine."~_

"Copy that. Oh, hey, check out that local camera before you leave. I'm reading a blank on it, so someone must have futzed with it when they dumped that body."

_~"Understood,"~ the jet swallowed, took a nanoclick to compose himself, then said, ~"we'll see you later."~_

* * *

><p>Depth Charge wasn't sure his mind had registered the explosion until well after he remembered his hand clasping the emergency lock and diving out of the security building, thrusters at maximum. He had barked, " 'Therapy, give me a pinpoint!"<p>

And she had efficiently responded, _~"Junction of Ward Nine and Eight. Cybershark diverting patrol to rendezvous on your position."~_

"Begin lockdown procedures to Ward One and Six once we're through. I don't want anything leakin' into them longer than necessary."

_~"Affirmative."~_

Switching frequencies and transforming to jet mode to increase his speed, Depth Charge radioed his second, "Cy', what's your ee-tee-aye to Ward Eight?"

_~"I was flying patrol in Six, so I'll be coming through Nine. I'll have to pincer to your position. I've radioed 'Therapy to lock down Six behind me in three cycles."~_

"Good." Depth Charge lamented that in jet mode he had not the use of his hands to wipe at his face. It was for the best in this situation, though. Any amount of hesitation by the security team and the general populace would panic to no ends - he'd seen the footage of the previous chief and the riots that had followed the Gonongam disaster.

The blue and purple Maximal returned to the monitor's frequency, " I'm clearing Ward One now. Engage lockdown . . ."

* * *

><p>Shock Therapy lowered the monitors in order to illustrate to her fellow Decepticon female how the bulkheads had locked behind the two security officers. "Depth Charge and Cybershark will engage your friends, Air-slake hasn't moved from Five, and Air Lock is advancing on his brother's position." She paused as the cameras revolved and changed angles on the four mechs in the field. "We're back on track, but it concerns me that Jazz, is still in the building."<p>

_~"I know."~ Misery patiently contemplated the Autobot-sired who remained in the security center. ~"Has Jazz attempted contact with the others that would warrant prompt action?"~_

"No, nothing yet. I've lojacked all communications equipment within twelve floors plus and minus his current position." The singular orb of the violet female dimmed in thought, considering the black and blue female staring back from the computer screen. "What will you do now?"

_~"I will wait for Machiavellian to move upon Depth Charge and for Cybershark to complete his tasks. For now, I shall go keep the Autobot company."~ Misery smirked, collected herself, and strode to the door. She was almost ready to leave the hallway when Shock Therapy asked her the pertinent question, to which she idly responded: ~"When he awakens, you shall receive payment as agreed."~_

"Remember what else you promised me, Misery." There was anger in her voice as the demand echoed throughout the chamber. "You promised."

_On the other end of the transmission, crimson optics narrowed, and the golden hue faded from them. Misery refused to look back to the monitor, but stated calmly, ~"I honour my word."~_

* * *

><p>"One little-two little-three little Indians," Stricture cut through one scientist after the next, all the while he sang while disabling the scientists, so that stasis lock had no choice but to engage. Picking up the three motionless bodies, Stricture followed the jump route he had created to the main operating room.<p>

Dragging them down the gallery of the operating theatre, he sat one after another into the seats, restrained them physically, and then -for good measure- he disabled their motor functions. When he finished, the silver and blue Decepticon ricked to the shielded operating tank in the center of the room. Rather than walk, he disappeared in a burst of multicoloured smoke and appeared at the edge of the container.

Stepping the last two paces to the partition, he peered over the edge and examined the bits of gold, purple, grey, and red that swarmed over one another like insects. For no more than he had collected of the behemoth, the nanites' memory had begun to formulate the mess of pieces into what would eventually become a complete body.

"Four little-five little-six little Indians," he smirked, widened his eyes in anticipation, and disappeared to another section of the building.

* * *

><p>Depth Charge transformed after arriving at the bulkhead separating ward Eight from Nine, landed upon the nearest platform that hadn't collapsed in the initial shockwave, and surveyed the area. Many security drones had taken up post by the sealed entryway, while the multitude of diagnostic and repair drones sought out the gaps in the structure, identifying and isolating what triage status should be given to the damaged interior hull of the colony.<p>

Emergency teams had already arrived to the area and had drawn the wounded into Ward Eight before the doors sealed. While some only sustained minimal injuries, they had been contained to an impromptu egest tent while the medical teams began the process of preemptive decontamination. The others, who had grievous wounds or missing limbs, had been escalated to the nearest mobile infirmary and recovery unit erected in response to the explosion.

"No reports yet, sir," announced the honey-toned Maximal who ran up to meet the leviathan.

"What do we know, Cathode?" Depth Charge inspected the squat male who had fetched a data pad from his subspace.

"To count, we have twelve bystanders who have been taken to MIR to stabilize," began Cathode. "We've had ninety-two so far go through decontamination, and another two-hundred or more waiting. What teams I've sent in haven't radioed for three cycles now, so I'm thinking they hit something radioactive down there."

"Anyone trapped?" the security chief stepped forward, dropped to one knee to examine the data pad over Cathode's pauldron, and still managed to tower over the honey-toned Maximal.

"Negative. At least no one reported before we lost contact." Cathode spun on his heels and indicated to secondary entrance where three more teams of five bots apiece were loading gear and rescue equipment to their backs and subspace. "We're about to start a checkpoint crew. Going to see if we can get some type of signal going through whatever's blocking us downstairs."

Nodding, the blue and purple Maximal lifted his arm and spoke into his comm. link. "Cy, what do you see on the other side?"

Static.

"No use getting through using direct comm.," Cathode pointed to an expanse of wall that ran to the west of their current position. "Anything direct beam through the exterior wall into Nine is cut off after approximately a quarter-kilometer. Interference runs the adjoining sections. If you wanna talk to Cybershark, he's gotta get almost up against us on the other side, and judging by the sonar reads I just got, he's not getting to us for awhile."

"What's sonar show?" The two side-stepped as a medical team jaunted past with four crushed, unrecognizable torsos from the secondary entrance.

"A whole-lotta-nothing. Whatever the obstruction is, we can't get a reading," the officer responded.

"Hey, you!" Depth Charge jerked around, and caught the last of the emergency responders by the arm. "Can you tell me what's down there?"

"Lots of scaffolding came down, major tunnels have collapsed, and there's a mojestern radical two leak coming out of Tunnel Four. Anyone in that tunnel's dead in five cycles regardless of treatment or not." The bot grasped at the empty air towards his team. "I have to go with them. MIR Two is about to be short by sixty-two beds."

The security chief nodded, released the Maximal, and turned back to Cathode. The two shared identical sullen expressions.

"Primus take them and keep them," Cathode whispered. His eyes widened, suddenly hyper-alert to the situation. "I've gotta call off that checkpoint crew. They can't go near Tunnel Four without Class Enns!"

Depth Charge nodded, "Go!"

The leviathan was halfway across the makeshift command post when his communications link crackled to life. _~"Dep- __***chzzt***__ -ge __***chzzt***__ -eading __***chzzt***__."~_

"Cy, is that you?" he ignored the clamour of voices and equipment behind him and focused only on his radio. "How are you getting through?"

_~"Sig- __***chzzt***__ -eak __***chzzt***__ -erapy routing __***chzzt***__ -rd Six, Four, Two, and __***chzzt***__."~_

_Well,_ Depth Charge thought, _at least that's something to work with._ "Cy, get close to the East end of Nine. Repeat: East end of Nine. Avoid Tunnel Four. Repeat: avoid Tunnel Four. Mojestern radical two leak in Tunnel Four."

_~" __***chzzt***__ -gain?"~_

"Mojestern radical two. Mojestern radical two. Tunnel Four. Tunnel Four. Tunnel Four." Depth Charge repeated himself four more times, hoping that his transmission got through uninterrupted.

The signal died for almost a cycle before the clearest response came back, _~"Well, fuck."~_ The security chief rolled his optics, readied a retort, but was cut off by Cybershark. _~"I hope- __***chzzt***__ -oming through clearer. Main- __***chzzt***__ -orker just said mojestern lea- __***chzzt***__ -unnel Four and Eight."~_

"Damnit," hoicking back, Depth Charge ran full speed for the secondary entrance where Cathode and his teams were coating themselves in the last of the Class N shield modifiers. "Cath', Cybershark just got a message to me that there's mojestern in Tunnel Eight."

"Slag, team two was headed for Eight from this side," he pointed five officers standing together. "You guys are loaded. Get to Tunnel Eight now. Warn them off."

They saluted wordlessly, dispatched themselves accordingly, and crossed the barricade into the pressurized chamber that separated them from Ward Nine. Moments after they had disappeared behind the wall, the adjoining lock opened to reveal three miners dragging a mech who was twice their combined size and missing both legs beneath the fauld. One yelled, "Somebody help us!"

A medic who deemed her patient stable descended upon the three miners, made the hasty decision that none were in stasis and downgraded them to green triage with an equally hasty paint marker to their pauldrons, and then made a yellow triage to the fourth mech without asking any questions. She ordered, "Egest tent three for decontamination. If he-" she pointed to the crippled mech "-goes into status, alert your nearest med-tech and they'll evac him to the first available MIR."

"You're not listening to us!" one of the miner's attempted to interrupt. "There's mechs trapped down there!"

Regardless of their arguments, the medic disappeared faster than she had come, and the three argued for a moment among themselves whether they should go back down.

"Easy," Depth Charge, who had been listening, broke up their fight by throwing his hands between them. "How many are trapped and where?"

All four said something different, then the miner in the middle threw his hands between everyone and waved for attention. Self-elected to speak, he clarified, "There's fourteen from our team in Tunnel Three, Adit Two. We were headed for Tunnel Four when we heard the team down there screaming murder, but mojestern alarm went off. One of our crew kicked the support beams out when we couldn't get the door closed, then more of the roof caved in."

Pausing only long enough to take a wheezing breath, the miner continued, "We were at the tail of our crew, but when everyone turned back we were first out. Roof came down on us and without the big guy-" he pointed to the miner who was once again being lifted by the other two "-we couldn't get the way cleared for them. They're trapped behind beams and we just _left them_."

Nodding once, Depth Charge pointed to the decontamination tents, "Do like the medic said, I'm goin' down." Leaving the four miners, Depth Charge picked a random medic who passed him first and two security officers who were of substantial bulk that could help him. Despite the medic's attempts to break free and return to triaging, the leviathan drug him the whole way through the secondary entrance to Ward Nine.

* * *

><p><em>It's started. I can feel it.<em> Air-slake gazed out between the two buildings, watching as the inhabitants of Ward Five went about their lives as if the explosion had not happened. Shuttles and individuals flew overhead in flocks, unaware of the danger that would soon be upon them. Ahead of him, pedestrians passed the security drones and caution barriers without so much as throwing a glance his way.

Sighing, he turned in time to catch three scraplets, no bigger than domesticated Terran felines, gnawing at the foot of the already disfigured corpse. "Get away!" he swatted at them, but missed when they scattered upon his approach. "Disgusting things!"

"I think they're cute."

Air-slake spun towards the entrance of the crime scene, safety halfway released from his sidearm before he realized it was only his twin. "There you are. What took you so long?"

Air Lock looked from his brother to the corpse, then again to his brother. Stiffly, he avoided the evidence markers that were nearly lost in the litter that caked the alley, and came to hover next to his twin. "I had that thing to take care of."

Narrowing cerulean optics in concern, the younger brother pried, "Are you okay?"

"Just . . ." Air Lock upturned his helm, stared at nothing in particular on the exterior of the nearby building, and avoided the remains beside him as amicably as he did the conversation. "Just leave it alone."

" 'Lock, if you're not feeling okay-"

"Just leave it alone," he shot back, eyearchs raising in tune with his pursed lips. "It's no longer important, okay? So just leave it - leave _me_ - alone."

Considerately and noiselessly, Air-slake approached his brother, gripped his twin's pauldron and squeezed reassuringly. "Cue's been keeping me posted. There was a mine explosion down in Ward Nine."

"And we're stuck here when we should be back at the Tower doing the right thing."

Air-slake nearly choked on his words as he fought off the frustration and sorrow that under normal circumstances would have sent him flying to the rescue. "It's here. You felt it too, then?"

"Of course I felt it. I felt it last night when Misery came this close to killing me," Air Lock spat, pinching his finger and thumb together for emphasis. "She wouldn't even listen to reason. She's just going through the motions and marching us all to our deaths. We're down here - _pointlessly_ down here, sitting on our hands doing absolutely nothing to help everyone, and our friends are about to be killed. _We're_ about to be killed.

"And instead of fighting, we're just sittin' here, waiting for the damn end to come. I came so close to leaving. _So _ close that I was in the cockpit, gates open, and I couldn't move the damn ship forward. I got out and tried to fly for the gate by myself, and I couldn't do it. No matter how much I wanted to leave, I couldn't make myself do it.

"I wasn't scared. I wasn't afraid. I just. Couldn't. Damn. _Move._" Huffing furiously, Air Lock grabbed his twin and carted him into a hug that would have crushed an organic. "I couldn't leave my little brother to die alone."

"To tell you the truth," Air-slake, who had remained silent until now, said into his brother's pauldron, "I'd have tried the same thing if you hadn't done it."

* * *

><p><em>~"He's in the box,"~ reported Shock Therapy.<em>

Misery silenced her comm. link and strode nonchalantly into the office where Jazz³ had set up his computer to monitor the reports from the Air twins as they submitted information to be cross referenced in Omicron's files. Currently, he was chasing down a partial serial number from the corpse that Air-slake had forwarded to him after submitting hundreds of crime scene photos.

"Depth Charge has not called for me," she wove around the office, inspecting each poster and collected item. Anything she could get away with nudging into symmetrical patterns she did so with the intent of arousing the Autobot's anger, if only to pass the time. "I grow restless."

"I can see that," Jazz³ glanced up briefly, blinked once, and stared at her from under the visor he had pulled over his optics. He ordered, "Please move that back."

Misery examined the urn that she had spun to hide the crack towards the wall. "This item?"

"Yes," he cast his eyes over the shelves that she had passed, only to find himself listing items, "and the pictures. And the data pads. The statues, too."

"You are as restless as I," she stated. "Would you not rather be - how do you say? - _in the field?_"

"Yes, but I have tertiary duties to oversee." He went back to typing, flashing a glance in her direction every so often to keep watch on anything else she chose to reposition on his shelves. If she started on the sports paraphernalia he'd collected, he made the mental promise to fire a warning shot in her direction.

"I am without entertainment," she cocked her helm to the side and eyed him speculatively while completing her first circle of the room. "Suggestions?"

"You could go get shitfaced in one of the bars?" he huffed, striving to maintain his focus on the search for a matching serial number for the victim. Avoidant of anyone spying his computer screen, he alternatively minimized the search engine or maximized a video game on the screen to keep Misery from stealing a glance upon her second and third passes of the room.

"You distrust me," the female Decepticon neared the entrance and paused her steps.

"One, you're a Decepticon. I don't trust _any_ Decepticon," he sat up straighter when she began pacing for the fourth time. "Two, I just don't like _anyone_ reading over my shoulder. Pet peeve. I'm sure you understand."

"Indeed." She stopped again at the urn, inspecting the crack like it was the most interesting thing in the universe. Misery surmised that Jazz³ was one of those tourists who brought back a souvenir from every place he had been, but the motley collection leaned heavily towards Terran pop culture. The urn was out of place. "I cannot fathom keeping things that are broken."

As he was about to offer some response regarding her gun and what she could do with it, the screen flashed with a match and interrupted him. Instead, he radioed to the twins. " 'Slake, you there?"

_~"Yes. Did you find a match?"~_

"Yes indeedy. I've got a match for colonial resident Tinsel, manager of research and development for Tyr Corp. His office is in Ward Five, Tier Twenty-six. I think you guys should go knocking on doors and find out how long he's been missing."

_~"Copy that."~_

"Stay safe," he closed the link, typed a note on the file, and glanced up without moving his helm. Continuing to type, he noticed that Misery had disappeared from his field of vision, but since he had not heard the door open and shut during his aside with Air-slake, he presumed that she had moved behind him again.

A crawling sensation tickled his metallic spine, and the urge to investigate his surroundings began to overtake him. Discretely, he activated the reflective corners of his visor, allowing him to add that extra periphery. He couldn't quite make out her full body - she stood directly behind him. But Jazz³ could make out Misery's extended wings and the edgings of her pauldrons and gauntlets.

Still he typed, pretending as if she had gone unnoticed, too curious to let on that he knew she was behind him. The Autobot-sired watched her right arm bow out silently, and only then did he detect the faintest click of her handgun being freed from its harness at her side. Jazz³ fought the urge to flinch, to display indication that he knew what she was doing; however, his cerulean optics had grown twice their original size under the visor.

The moment he caught the edge of Misery's handgun leveled towards his back, Jazz³ knew she was going for the kill shot. No longer wanting to tempt fate, his world slowed down the nanoclick he chose to jump up, leap towards the right, and simultaneously spin towards the Decepticon female. In the matter of a nanoclick, he extended his arms and released the safety on his arm-mounted thrummers.

That same nanoclick found the plasma charge from Misery's handgun tearing through the right side of Jazz³'s stomach as it came to bare, but before it reached him the deafening sonic blast of his thrummers slowed its impact so it hit low and to the side.

On the other side of the desk, the sonic waves coalesced from hundreds of minute waves into one ultra-sonic wave that hit Misery and everything surrounding her head on. The resulting detonation warped the metal lining the wall behind her, tore the metal from her frame, and sent one and all crashing through to the next room.

The aftershock was just as bad. On top of the corrosive plasma that was devouring the right side of his stomach and steadily advancing through him to his backside, the recoil of the wave in closed quarters launched him ass over teakettle towards the door, and ultimately through it and into the hallway.

Landing on his stomach with one arm under him and one arm splayed out ahead of him, Jazz³ groaned for all the tension and pain that had left him stranded immobile on the floor. Barely, he tilted his helm up and came to rest on the left side of his face and saw that he was facing away from the remains of his office. _Good,_ he mentally whined. _I don't want to see what I did to my stuff . . ._

* * *

><p>A planetary adit served the purpose of allowing water or other liquids run out from the main tunnels, but in zero-gravity they served the purpose of diverting gases caught by the centrifugal fans to the distilleries at the back of each adit. Inside each distillery, gases were condensed and cooled into liquid containers for storage. Even though green pyre was their most sought after resource, the generous heap of chemicals was just as profitable between harvests.<p>

In order to protect their profit margins, investors ensured that each adit was reinforced, so it was naturally the first place the trapped miners thought to dive when the ceiling came down around them.

Upon entering Tunnel Three, Depth Charge and the three officers following him saw that rescue teams were cutting into the chocks that had trapped two miners. They had been unable to push their way free after the crews had cleared the initial debris, which left them to patiently wait for the team that had stayed to cut wide sections from the beams that could be spared the cost of the ceiling's weight. Normally, it wouldn't have mattered in zero-gravity, but the teams did not want to risk that something in a higher tunnel might have compromised the integrity of the ones below.

Even in space, objects have mass, and the denizens of Omicron were all too familiar with the concept. It didn't help that the occasional rumble and fading scream continually reminded everyone within the ward of the frailty of life.

Passing the first adit, the four Maximals cautiously flew through Tunnel Three in search of the next branch where they expected to find the rubble and the fourteen trapped miners. "Can anyone hear me?" Depth Charge yelled every quarter-kilometer that they flew. "If you're trapped, make some noise so we can find you!"

"Sir," one of the officers flew close to the chief, able to keep pace with the larger male's hovering speed. "If the map I downloaded is correct, Adit Two should be visible within the next kilometer.

"Switching to infrared," the leviathan commanded the action of his internal sensors, then was enveloped visually in a haze of the red-orange spectrum. He announced, "Heat levels look maintained, so we're not venting to space. Stay on guard for capped seams that may be working and be careful not to bust them."

At the threshold of the adit, the four transformed, landed, and engaged their searchlights. Approaching the hulking slab of rock and metal that had blocked their path into the adit, Depth Charge caught a glimpse of two sparking stubs protruding from the base of the rock. Frowning, he said, "Looks like we found the right one, at least."

"Is someone out there?" a dampened voice called from the other side of the rock.

"We're here!" the medic rushed to the seal of the rock, hoping to get a better angle on the voices inside. "Is anyone in there in critical condition?"

"A few of us are missing limbs," the voice came again, accompanied by the gleeful cheers of the others inside celebrating their impending liberation. "No one's seriously injured. Move on to whoever needs it. We just want out!"

The medic turned to the security chief, waiting for the go-ahead to rejoin the medical staff outside. Instead, Depth Charge ordered, "Everyone grab the corner. We're gonna move this thing and then ya can go."

They all nodded in agreement, chose the corner that appeared to have the better angle for all four, then heaved. At first, only dust and pebbles stirred, but the strength of the four working together soon had the faintest of gaps appearing at their feet. A _whoosh_ caught their feet like a rushing tide, which threatened to overturn the smaller medic. Defiantly, he forced himself to remain upright, and yelled encouragement to the others, "Hold steady!"

"We can see you!" the voice rasped, eliciting more cheers from the inside.

"Anyone on the other side that's fully functional," Depth Charge grunted and strained, "we could sure use the help!"

"A little further, and we can!" a female voice called this time.

Scooting one foot after the other, one of the officers walked his gauntlets down the rock until he could leverage the extra push needed for the next officer to move forward in support. After they moved, the leviathan came forward, repositioned himself as steadily as he could, then snorted and thrust his weight against the slab.

Now with the gap widening and with their proximity to the miners growing steadily closer, they could hear the tail-end of a conversation. ". . . ya sure you wanna do this, Picker?"

" 'Course! I'd give mah life for you guys." Voices embarked their support. Moments later, Depth Charge could just make out the scrapes and slithers of a small bot crawling through the gap they had made. "Okay, boys," the closer voice said, "mah name's Picker, and I'm gonna shove on _three_. I can't do much for ya yet, but I'll give it mah best."

"It's appreciated," the medic strained, and the three officers concurred.

"Okay, one, two," there was a long scrape followed by what sounded like a cat wailing in a blender, "_three!_"

The medic felt the rock slip fast from his hands, but his quick reaction countered the loss of leverage by rushing further under the rock and catching the first grip he could. Planting his feet once more, he forced upward, giving him and Picker the chance to hold the rock at a steeper angle. The squatter officers came forward one at a time, resituating themselves in time for the leviathan to make his move.

With the space now cleared for him, Depth Charge came under the rock where the first gap had appeared, lowered himself to the ground, and grasped the facing. Lifting with all his strength, the four bots in front of him had the weight of the rock ripped from their grips by the space of meters. Holding the full weight of the corner by himself, Depth Charge rose until the angle was steep enough to allow a six meter crawl space next to himself.

"Slag," one officer said, dumbstruck.

Quick on action, Picker dove back into the adit and began guiding two more miners out behind him. Now with more hands to help and ample space for everyone, they made short work of clearing the rock from the entrance. One by one, the remaining miners squeezed from the adit until the last came up to the security chief. "Depth Charge, right?"

"That's right," he answered.

The miner offered his hand, and the leviathan humbly accepted. "You're a good bot," the miner said. "Most would've left us down here an' moved on as soon as they heard we were okay." Only nodding in return, the leviathan asked the miner if he knew of others who might have been trapped. "No," he responded. "Soon as the explosion went off, we lost all signal locally. We only heard the other guys screaming in Four, but they've . . . been quiet for some time now."

"I heard," Depth Charge tipped his helm to the other. "Follow the medic back to Eight and get yourselves repaired."

Picker frog-hopped to the security chief and the miner, toting two crushed legs. "I figure they got MIRs or some such up there. Why make Noesis wait for replacements?"

The miner forced a weak smile, transformed to his cart mode, and allowed Picker to climb onboard. "Thanks, pal!" Picker yelled as they sped to catch up to the medic and other miners.

"So where you want us next, boss?" an officer asked.

Depth Charge spared a glance to him, ordered the two to follow, and then jolted over the rubble to the far wall. He pointed to a smoking, triangular object mounted to a bolt driven into the wall. "One of the alarms."

"Looks like it malfunctioned," one suggested.

"No," Depth Charge narrowed his crimson optics and dialed his sensors up internally. "It's been shot out. Someone sabotaged the alarms."

Bits of the two officers flew past him and embedded into the wall. Spinning, Depth Charge drew his gunblade and pointed it in the direction the shots had been fired from. The tunnel coughed and sputtered, and bits of loose rock reigned down overhead in the direction of the exit, forcing him to dive temporarily for cover and blocked his path of retreat.

"Well, look who we caught," Mace dropped from a clandestine passage overhead and pointed his handgun at the security chief. "Nice job holding off your shot, by the way. Too many stray shots and this place might come down." He prodded the rubble at his feet for emphasis. "It's gonna make this interesting."

"You're the bouncer from the bar," Depth Charge leveled his gunblade at the other, charging the blade for effect. "Care to explain before I take ya down?"

"What's there to explain?" green orbs lit up in his peripheral, and had Depth Charge not heard the voice, he would have presumed it was Misery. Masquerade walked out of the darkness and lit up a small section of the tunnel, sashaying her hips with every step. "We got an itch we wanted to scratch."

"So ya blew up a mine?" Depth Charge unholstered his second gun and pointed it in Masquerade's direction. The thought crossed his mind that the danger to them all just rose exponentially.

"Really sweetie, that's cute," she chortled. "But now that you got your focus on us . . ."

He detected the movement behind him, and dove to the side to avoid a shot to the back. Instead of connecting with the blue and purple Maximal, the shot went wild and threw dust and small rocks everywhere. "Three against one," Depth Charge, looked from Mace to Masquerade to Minstrel. "This'll be a walk . . ."

* * *

><p>Deciding he had lain there for long enough without a counter-attack, Jazz³ rolled his helm from left to right, giving him the chance to decide which wall was closest. His side hurt with each flinch, and the motor control to his right leg had been severed. Trying his wing mechanism, he grunted as a whirring effort left him still limp and lying face down.<p>

"Gotta get moving," he rallied his conviction and drew himself onto his right vambrace. Gently, the third eased himself up and freed his left arm. The action cost him, though, as he fought back the scream caused by the gaping wound in his side, which was steadily leaking energon. Bracing himself with his right arm, Jazz³ attempted to shift his weight to his left side, even though it made it difficult for him to kick forward with his left leg.

Reaching out with his left arm, he pulled himself forward with a grunt, and repeated the gestures until he was close enough to the wall to grab the framework. Lifting with both arms, he got his left foot planted and rose slightly. Then, putting his weight back onto his right leg with some tentative tests of stability, he risked the pain for a quick jerk to get his left leg, and in turn his entire body, up to a standing position.

Since he was now standing, Jazz³ hobbled and turned, subconsciously covering his wound to slow the loss of energon. He surveyed the destruction of his office.

His collectables were warped beyond recovery, and the desk had seen better days. Actually, the desk looked like he had molded it out of wet clay, then decided at the last minute to drop a wrecking ball into the middle before allowing it to fully set. Mostly, Jazz³ surmised, everything that had been level with his thrummer had been utterly destroyed by the shock and recoil. He was just thankful that the door had given out under his weight, otherwise he'd be just as dead as Misery.

Thinking of which, he limped through into his office and stood at the entryway, eyeing the hole in the wall that had blown out with Misery. "Dumb bitch," he spat. "Can never trust a 'con." Turning, the white and black jet put his right gauntlet on the wall and carried himself lazily towards the lift at the end of the hall. He just needed a quick fix in the CR Chamber, and he'd be back in action by the time Depth Charge returned to chastise him for killing the female.

Just as he reached the end of the hall, he pressed the button to retrieve the lift. Waiting patiently, he whistled a tune to pass the time. Hearing the chime announce the arrival of the lift, he stuck his hand upon the wall for support while the doors opened. Jazz³ had just peeled his hand from the wall when a plasma blast caught his vambrace and ate through the metal to the frame.

The attack had caught him off guard, causing him to scream out as he fell through the opened doors and into the lift. "_Damnit!_" he cried, pain receptors firing as he tried to roll onto his back. He stared at the leaking stub where his left hand and forearm should have been, phantom sensations flexing the dactyls that weren't there. The next second, Jazz³ looked up in time to see Misery's energon blade projecting from the back of her gauntlet and severing his other arm clean from the pauldron. "_How are you still alive?_"

Grabbing him by his right foot, she spun the black and white flyer the rest of the way into the lift and climbed aboard, punching the button to take them to Shock Therapy's tower chambers.

"Primus damn you!" Jazz³ mewled, voice straining when he realized his internal attempts to connect his communications link had failed. Either the aftershock of his thrummers had knocked his sensors out, or someone was jamming them. Judging from the highlighted destination on the lift's control panel, the Autobot-sired inferred the latter must have been true. "How the hell are you alive?"

The Decepticon female didn't answer; instead, she rolled her helm from side to side, popping the stiff joints that had just completed repairs. Other than that, she made no further acknowledgement of the beaten flyer.

"What the hell are you?" he whined, using his left leg to shove himself as far away from her as the lift would allow. "Answer me, damnit!"

When the lift gave a sedated jolt and the doors slid open, the female Decepticon clutched Jazz³ by his damaged leg and drug him into the tower. Much to his chagrin, the Autobot-sired rasped every curse he could think of until Misery slung him into the railing that prevented him from falling into the deepest section of the tower.

"You brought him _here!_" Shock Therapy descended upon the two, looking from one to the other she tried to discern Misery's intention.

"I should've known you were both in on this!" Jazz³ hissed, then cut himself off.

The expression Misery turned upon him said at once for him to keep his mouth shut. The usual vibrance of gold that highlighted her optics had dissipated, leaving only the intensive malignity that he had always heard Decepticons possessed. It was that very same look he had accused her of giving Depth Charge, and now it was upon him and amplified.

To Shock Therapy, Misery spoke with deathly truth, "Rather him than you."

The violet Decepticon female hesitated in her web of cables, anxiously looking from Misery to the Autobot-sired and back. "W-what does that mean?"

"His presence here will only ensure you receive your reward." Misery pointed an upturned hand at the monitor after both Shock Therapy and Jazz³ reacted with the same quizzical faces. Silencing any further remark from the monitor, Misery told her, "Our agreement is in effect. Do not permit your lack of field experience to limit your productivity."

Shock Therapy gulped after the female turned to leave. Looking back to the wounded Autobot-sired, she reconsidered that she might have made the incorrect choice by listening to her grandsire.

* * *

><p><em>~" 'Slake, you there?"~<em>

Air Slake tapped his comm. link as his twin walked over to listen. "Yes," he replied to Jazz³. "Did you find a match?"

Air Lock withdrew a datapad from his subspace and made himself ready to type if needed.

_~"Yes indeedy. I've got a match for colonial resident Tinsel, manager of research and development for Tyr Corp."~_ The brothers could hear the third in command typing at his desk. _~"His office is in Ward Five, Tier Twenty-six. I think you guys should go knocking on doors and find out how long he's been missing."~_

"Copy that." He closed his comm. link and looked to his brother. "I guess this means we should wrap up here."

"You really think it's worth going?" the elder brother returned the datapad to his subspace. "I mean, aren't we just going through the motions at this point?"

"Okay," Air-slake pointed to the droid guarding the corpse behind his brother. "Shoot him."

Without hesitation, Air Lock drew his weapon, pointed to the droid, but found his finger frozen a millimeter above the trigger. The droid looked up, peacefully awaiting orders as it chirred. The elder jet forced himself to put his finger to the trigger, but even still he could not shoot. "Okay, fine," Air Lock holstered his gun, then pointed to his brother. "You do it."

Like his brother, Air-slake drew his weapon unquestioningly, pointed at the droid, but holstered after a minute's frustration. "Alright, so that plus your inability to leave Omicron says to me that neither of us has the gumption to step outside destiny's course. Can we go do what we've been ordered now?"

"I guess so," Air Lock rolled his pauldrons, threw his helm back in resignation, and narrowed his optics. From their proximity to the bulkhead that separated Ward Five from Four, he could peer all the way up the artificial sky into the conical domes that enclosed Wards Two and One. "I never took the time to notice before, but the way One is set up makes it look like some sort of hole in the sky."

Aware his brother had put a reassuring hand on his shoulder again, Air Lock heard his brother say, "No wonder the miners think poorly of us. We separated ourselves from them and made a heaven out of the newer wards." Air-slake took his twin by the pauldrons and forced Air Lock to look at him. "We go where we're supposed to now, but I'm with you later. We fight. We try to save who we can. But until we know what we're up against, we don't know what to look for."

"Alright," the eldest nodded. "Let's get the droids to clean up here. We'll go to Tyr Corp like you want . . ."

* * *

><p>"Wait, <em>wait<em>, please don't-" Stricture drove his energon blade into the vocal cords of the scientist, using his other hand to rip the smaller Maximal's remaining leg from his body.

"Sorry, what was that?" the silver and blue Decepticon rose up, cupping his hand to his audio for emphasis. "Doesn't sound like you enjoy being dismembered. You know who else doesn't like being dismembered? My _friend_ you kept in your research department!"

Hooking his dactyls over the scientist's helm, the second teleported them both into the bottom gallery of the operations theatre. He slammed the scientist into the paneling, tossed him about, and shoved his face over the brim of the container. "You see him? You _see_ him? That's my _friend_! I've known him for over Nine. Million. Stellarcycles. And _YOU_ think he's just some lowly experiment!"

From inside the container, an emerald light burned up at them with as much hatred as could be managed for a bot whose face had not been completely restored. That lone light pinpricked behind the lens, narrowing its focus upon the scientist that quivered and shook with what sound he could muster.

"You better stare at him nice and long, you slag-sucking saurian, because _he's_ staring at you. Xyston's memorizing you, and when he's whole, _Xyston's gonna eat you_," Stricture finished in sing-song. Jerking the scientist up, the male Decepticon threw him into a vacant section of the upper gallery that he had reserved for the scientists who had the most involvement in Xyston's torture. By putting them in the back, he hoped to make each one all the more savoury for the behemoth.

"Hey down there," Stricture became the picture of friendliness - smiling and giving the airs of a perfectly sane, completely competent gentleman. "I know it's been awhile since we last saw one another, but I wanted to tell you that our lady is not angry with you for attempting to kill her, nor has she broken your arrangement." Pushing a dactyl to his lips to shush the non-existent reply, Stricture continued, "Only a few dozen more pieces to go, and we'll have you whole again. Believe me when I say, we're looking forward to your return. So much, in fact, that we've prepared a little gift for you."

Stricture rolled the finger from his lips and pointed to the space behind him, where more than twenty scientists had been dismembered, restrained, and made audience to the behemoth's return to glory. "There'll be more like them once you finish here. Thousands more. Just for you. A gesture from Lady Misery to you."

The belayed thought had occurred to him that the behemoth's vocalizer and mouth had not been reconstituted, so he went with what he had. "Knock once for no, twice for yes." Stricture leaned further over the edge, putting him within striking distance of the behemoth - had he been completely reformed, that is. "Do you still accept the terms of the original bargain, do you still hold alliance with Lord Megatron and his Decepticon army?"

_Knock_, went the first stroke of the skeletal arm against the container. _Knock._

"So glad to hear it!" Stricture clapped his hands, turned to face the captivated crowd, and disappeared to collect the remaining parts.

* * *

><p>Lunging forward, Depth Charge slashed at Minstrel, clashed their blades together, then veered towards the second blue and black male and struck out. Since Mace was prepared, he parried the leviathan's gunblade then punched the other across the enclosed terrain. Had the Maximal known the hidden breakthroughs and galleries, or even the intakes, he might have been able to out run the three and lure them into a trap of reinforcements. As things were currently going, he hadn't a chance of obtaining backup or outrunning them, and matters were made worse by the fact that all three of his opponents were skilled.<p>

"What's wrong, baby?" Masquerade sliced over Depth Charge's helm, inciting the other to duck and roll backwards into a rib pillar. While she withdrew her blade from the cave wall, Mace leapt over his factory sister and stabbed at Depth Charge. The security chief threw up his arm and directed the Decepticon's blade with the back of his vambrace. Just like Masquerade, Mace's energon blade drove deep into the support beam, giving the blue and purple Maximal the opportunity to punch the other in the face.

The punch came too fast for Mace to close his battlemask, so the leviathan's attack made full impact. Diving away from him, Depth Charge swung his gunblade around, gripped it with both hands, and plunged at the second male. Minstrel extended his second energon blade, crossed them in defense, and caught the gunblade above his helm. While Depth Charge had meant to slice the Decepticon in two, he instead smirked at his good fortune. "Well, ain't that a bitch."

Minstrel had a moment to raise an eyearch in puzzlement, but when his optics dropped along the blade, he saw that the hilt of the gunblade was angled at his stomach. Pulling the trigger, the close range attack blew through the Decepticon and hurled him into the far wall.

"_Minstrel!_" Masquerade ran at the security chief, leaped over a pile of debris, and engaged him in an acrobatic-laced melee. Her smaller frame gave her the ability to slip by the leviathan to evade, but it also meant that each time he planted a punch in her side, she was tossed back. The very second Mace found an opening, he attacked as well, and Depth Charge was suddenly avoiding two energon blades by ducking as they passed where his helm had once been.

Backpedaling, the Maximal jostled the male away from them, blocked Masquerade's slice, then spun and slung his gunblade at her face. Dropping to one knee, the female was halfway to blocking the gunblade with her energon blade while she expanded her battlemask to shield her face. She had expected the strike to connect, but when the gunblade wavered inches over her face, Masquerade thinned her lips in consideration and tilted her helm to the side. "Something about my mask?"

Depth Charge instinctually retreated as Masquerade rose to her feet, though the entire time his gunblade remained level with her helm should she make a move to attack. Utilizing his distraction, Mace pounced on Depth Charge from behind and held him fast, leaving the Maximal's front exposed to his sister for whenever she so chose her opportunity. "Does my face remind you of someone? Perhaps my sister Misery?" Masquerade laughed, lightly caressing her energon blade over the security chief's chest. "Oh, this is so cute it's pathetic!"

In return, Depth Charge narrowed his optics at the female who was now visually identical to Misery. "Let me go and I'll show ya pathetic!"

Behind him, Mace threw back his helm and brayed in the leviathan's audios. "This is too good! But I am disappointed by his hesitation - doesn't make it as much fun!"

Struggling to his feet, Minstrel covered his stomach and bent forward, shifting his gravity so that the silvery mech flowed towards his hand instead of down his back. He, like his siblings, tittered with excitement.

"Maybe we should ask her if she really wants him dead," Masquerade hooted. "What'd'ya think, Mace? Shall we call her up and ask what she _really_ wants done with him?"

"What the hell are you goin' on about?" Feeling he had missed some shared, unspoken joke at his expense, the Maximal jerked his pauldrons against Mace's hold, but found he could not break free.

"Misery," Masquerade chortled. "She is our sister, after all. And she would have so much fun with you if she knew you _liked_ her with your little Maximal crush."

Depth Charge hissed. His attempts to charge the female resulted in him being knocked to his knees and his arms wrenched tight behind his wings by Mace. "Why don't ya call her. I'm sure she'd love to why you're down here killing _miners_."

"Boy have you been a fool." The female Decepticon lowered herself dangerously close to the security chief's face, then whispered, "She _ordered_ us to _kill them_."

"That's a lie," the leviathan snapped, "Misery wouldn't do that to the miners."

"And you're so sure?" Masquerade shook with laughter before raising her blade to strike. "Regardless, I think I'm tired of this banter."

" _'RADE!_" Mace threw the Maximal aside and ran to his factory sister, catching her body as it fell. Behind the female, Cybershark slung his energon sword clean of Masquerade's mechfluid, then went to help his chief.

"_NO!_" Minstrel charged at the two security officers and drew his handgun, but before he could get a shot off Depth Charge had disarmed and cut through the Decepticon's spark chamber. The explosion from Minstrel's spark warped the metal immediately over his chest, leaving behind an empty, sizzling chamber.

" 'Rade, 'Rade, speak to me!" Mace yauped while shaking her lifeless body, completely oblivious to his brother's death. "This isn't right - we're supposed to be unstoppable together! _'Rade wake up!_"

Cybershark leveled the edge of his energon sword at the remaining Decepticon. "I think it's time you surrender."

"You," Mace sluggishly turned to the second, clutching the female in his arms. "You will pay for this."

Depth Charge stepped up beside his second in command, aimed his gunblade at the Decepticon, and ordered, "Ya better start talkin'."

Mace snorted in contempt, "You may have killed her, but when Mac' finds out, you'll be dead. You'll die - you hear me? You're world's gonna end!"

"You mean like _legitimate nihility_?" Cybershark barked in return, the pores on his snout catching the mix of emotions that overtook the male. His words drove deep, and he could sense the nerve it struck with the Decepticon as it set off mental alarms. The second grinned predatory teeth in anticipation - he knew the first retaliatory attack would be against him now, rather than Depth Charge.

"Stand up," Depth Charge ordered.

The Decepticon male looked once to his brother's body, realizing for the first time that he was alone. But what Cybershark had said still rung in his mind. _Legitimate nihility._ The only way that the Maximal could know that phrasing were if he had spoken to someone like Machiavellian. Or worse - someone like Misery. Realizing for the first time that he had been played, Mace bemoaned the factory sister in his arms as he sat himself upon revenge.

Cautiously, he rose up, carting Masquerade's shell with him. Leveling his helm at the security chief, the black and blue male flicked a side-long glance to the teal Maximal in front of him. Dropping his sister's body, he ripped the handgun from his side and instead aimed for Depth Charge. However, Cybershark was ready for him by slicing his sword up and through the Decepticon, cleaving him pristinely in two. Reacting to the energon, Mace's spark imploded in his chest, leaving him to fall dead alongside his sister.

"Damnit," the security chief gripped his gunblade and resisted the temptation to throw it in frustration. "We needed him alive!"

"I know," Cybershark lamented. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Depth Charge shook his helm, looking between the three fallen. "How'd ya find me?"

"My sense of smell," the second pointed to his snout, tapping it once before sheathing his energon sword with his other hand. "It works a little like sonar for me. Even in the dark, I can find all the ins and outs of this place."

"Good to know," Depth Charge crossed over to Minstrel's body and examined it, hoping that maybe he hadn't extinguished the black and blue male's spark. Disappointedly, he found there would be no interrogation of any of the three Decepticons. "How's things the way ya came through?"

"Clear, for the most part. Though it's more than just Four and Eight that are flooded with mojestern. Tunnels nineteen through forty-six are completely under. There's no way anyone's coming out of those alive."

"Damnit," the blue and purple male slammed the butt of his fist into the nearest rib beam to him. Loose dirt and grind rained down, but nothing large enough to cause worry.

"It's worse than that," Cybershark turned to face his commanding officer.

The leviathan leveled with him, awaiting the horrible news that he knew would follow. "Well, let's have it."

Cybershark nodded, stepped close to the security chief, and gripped his pauldron supportively. "Your world really is gonna end." The second sucker punched the other, knocking him to the ground and into temporary stasis. Stifling a gloating cheer, the teal male lifted his hand to his insignia, waved his dactyls over it, and watched as the scarlet mark shifted and was replaced by the greenish insectoid emblem.

* * *

><p>The partition slid away, and the group of miners who had sought cover in one of the reinforced adits collectively turned to the door. In front, Vulture met the three Decepticons at the door, holding up complacent hands. "I tried callin' Manoeuver, but I can't get through. The tunnel's blocked and we can make it down to the shuttles."<p>

"We know," Machiavellian punched the representative speaker back into the room. While the other miners picked him up, the black and blue Decepticons tossed a box into the room, then shut the door after them. Malice braced it shut while Muffle secured the door from the outside. "Now, let's go up top and meet with our sister and her paramour."

"What about the others?" Malice grunted, listening to the mass of screams that rang out from the other side. The box's timer must have released the mojestern gas.

To the descending screams, Machiavellian retorted, "They know when and where to meet."

* * *

><p>"<em>WHERE ARE THEY!<em>"

Stricture slung the last scientist into the first row of prisoners, pursued him instantaneously via teleportation, and grasped the Maximal by the throat. He hissed, "Where. Are. They?"

"The-they've b-b-been sent off!" As the only scientist who was wholly functional, the Maximal shielded himself as best he could.

Optics widened, teeth gnashed, and Stricture cocked his helm to the side. Raising the petite Maximal with one hand, he gritted, "_Where?_"

"V-v-various labs! I d-don't know where! Please, believe me!"

Allowing his ire to overtake him, the silver and gold Decepticon extended his hand in the direction of the scientist's leg, then channeled his ability into the Maximal. Driving the scientist to the floor, he activated his teleporter and, rather than displacing the section of floor, the Maximal's leg fused with the molecular structure, trapping him.

Ignoring the scream of the lead scientist, Stricture teleported to the side of the tank, settled both hands on the edge, and peered over. Aside from a leg, an arm, and his vocalizer, the behemoth was almost completely restored. "Xyston. They have shipped your other parts away."

The beast's emerald optics upturned, and with his right hand he pointed to his lips.

"Hungry?" Stricture looked puzzled. The second considered the two knocks upon the container, then ran a dactyl over his own lips. "I know the energy you consume fuels your power, but can you now do the same with physical material?"

_Knock. Knock._

"Congratulations!" a fiendish smile overtook his face, and Stricture turned upon the head scientist. "You've just been nominated."

The scientist's resounding screams echoed throughout the room once he had been jerked free of the floor and tossed into the tank. Fortunately for them, the remaining scientists had not been able to witness feeding frenzy as Xyston tore into their leader. Unfortunately, they could _hear_ it, and their imaginations were just as detrimental.

Then came silence.

Stricture, who had watched the mutilation, stepped back slowly. _Bang_, went the behemoth's fist into the tank, jolting the scientists as upright as their restraints permitted. _Bang_ - this time the metal siding of the tank gave way, leaving behind puncture marks from Xyston's talons. As he reached the top, Xyston's red right hand loomed over the edge of the tank, followed by his left that appeared to have the silver and brown colours of the scientist he had just devoured.

The nanites of his body completed the connection to the makeshift arm, then began reshaping it into the grey, skeletal framework with partial red armour covering from his pauldron down to his elbow. The five amourless digits of his left hand flexed in anticipation.

"_More_," he said and leapt at the buffet of bodies Stricture had arranged.

* * *

><p>"Misery, I just received transmissions from Cybershark and Stricture. Cybershark will be meeting with Machiavellian and his team in Ward Nine, and Stricture has successfully freed Xyston."<p>

_~"Splendid,"~ Misery mused. ~"I am en route to the docking plank of the security tower. Shock Therapy has successfully engaged all systems per your council."~_

Taciturn cackled and narrowed his red optics. He stared out the window and towards the TRUNDLE building. If he used his imagination, he could picture every detail of Xyston's rampant feast taking place. Parting his lips, the black and red Decepticon spoke without moving his mouth. "Normally, I would save my congratulations until the end of our operation, but I commend your success thus far."

_~"Pointless flattery,"~ she chastised, paused, then pondered aloud. ~"You are still within Tyr Corp?"~_

"I have remained as you commanded me," he answered truthfully.

_~"For your restraint, I will reward you. Before I incapacitated Jazz Cubed, he dispatched Air Raid's sired to your location."~_

Optics widening, Taciturn's predatory smile overtook his face. _Could she really-?_

_~"Roast them. Boil them. Tear. Them. _Apart_."~_

"As my queen commands, so shall it be." Taciturn rose up, began navigating the Tyr Corp building with the security cameras. Finding the building empty, he expanded his search locally while he mentally planned his trap.

* * *

><p>"Unghhhh," Depth Charge grasped at his helm, sliding his palm over his optics and shaking his head at the same time. "What the hell . . .?"<p>

_~"You made this entirely too easy."~_

"The hell?" The comm. links were working again? The leviathan realized the darkness was not from the connection to his optics; rather, it was the obsidian chamber of the mine preventing him from seeing. Switching to infrared, he began searching for anything that would indicate a way out.

_~"By now you've realized that you're shut in,"~ Cybershark stated. ~"I made sure that there would be no safe way out for you. You're completely cut off."~_

He wasn't sure if he should be very angry, or very disappointed. Instead of lashing out, Depth Charge settled himself mentally into the grey area he always went before a kill - completely clear, hyper focused, and entirely amicable. "Why?"

_Cybershark grinned, shuffled his way out of the Tunnel Twelve exit in Ward Nine, and came to stand next to Machiavellian. Although Misery had explained the teal Maximal turncoat's position, the Decepticon male still eyed him with suspicion. ~"Despite what you may think, Misery did not come here to make you her bedfellow, she came here with the intention of freeing her lover. She has done so. Now, this colony will supplicate itself to Xyston's whim."~_

The security chief ran his hands over a seam in the mine, trying to discern if it were delicate enough to push through on his own. He'd seen first hand the devastation the behemoth left behind; yet, instead of allowing the memories to creep into his present thoughts, he asked again, "Why?"

_~"Because he's hungry,"~ Cybershark answered, teeth snapping the air. ~"Xyston is a god walking among pissants, and he's been asleep for a very long time. He does what anyone would do when they wake to find their home infested: they go for fuel and light a match."~_

"What kinda fuel's he after? Pyre? Oil? Energon?" The seam didn't budge. Perhaps he could cut through it with his gunblade. Reaching for the weapon that should have been on his back, the leviathan sighed when he discovered it was not there.

_~"Sparks."~_

Depth Charge stopped moving, body suddenly overcome with dread. He filed the thought away, determined to deal with it only _after_ he freed himself.

_After a moment, Cybershark raised an eyearch to the black and blue Decepticons, daring them to say something in protest. Misery had given him authority to speak, and if Machiavellian did not approve, then he had standing orders to take it up with the female and her paramour. ~"Specifically, any of them he can get his hands on, which is why I locked you up in the mines."~_

Depth Charge paused, dactyls gauntlet-deep in the seam, trying to pull out what rocks, materials, and dirt that he could. Cybershark shut him in here to protect him? If that were true, then perhaps he was correct in not rising to anger. But the fact still remained: Xyston was now free and Misery was helping him. Which meant that Depth Charge was honour and duty bound to defend the colony against them. Slag it, he hated rocks and hard places, no pun intended.

_~"Since you defeated her three assassins, you've earned a chance to live. _For now._ But that's only if you stay out of Xyston's way."~_

The thought struck him with the subtly of a steel pipe to the helm. Cybershark had killed two of them, yet he was diverting all credit to Depth Charge. Either he wanted to evade suspicion from the company he kept, or he wanted to build up Depth Charge's credibility to deter possible attacks. Regardless of the reason, he played along, "Misery loves me enough to keep me safe, but she'll let ya run around Xyston like a yappy puppy. Do ya even know what he's capable of? Because I do, an' it won't be pretty when he eats your face off _while_ you're still functional."

_~"I know what Xyston is capable of, Depth Charge,"~ sighed the shark. ~"Though I could never convince _you_ to understand, I would rather spend my days _hunting_ prawn, not _being_ hunted."~_

"And ya think he won't hunt you?" Depth Charge choked back a laugh. He'd succeeded so far in digging a hole in the wall the size of his chest, but it was nowhere near the depth or height he needed to escape. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even sure there was something on the other side for him to escape through, but it wouldn't stop him from trying.

_Cybershark was silent. He flicked his crimson eyes from Machiavellian to Muffle to Malice. Misery's three factory brothers eyed him speculatively, waiting for any sense of betrayal that they expected from the former Maximal. In their eyes, a traitor was a traitor, and never to be trusted outside of the extent of his usefulness. The teal male could even hear the wheels grinding in their helms as they thought up possible excuses to kill him on the spot. Finally, he snapped coldly, ~"I'm a shark. I am _never_ the hunted."~_

* * *

><p>Legs crossed, fist banged against the seat, dactyls trailed his mouth after licking away precious mechfluid. Xyston tossed his helm back in pure, unmitigated bliss. The behemoth's optics rolled back, shutting halfway as his systems absorbed the last traces of energy the final scientists had.<p>

So much bliss. It had all been such _bliss_.

Bits of bots littered the floor at Xyston's feet like empty oil canisters after a day-long binge. Drunkenly he crawled onto his hands, rose up, and threw back his helm in a mixture of ecstasy fury, and relief. For too long he had been contained, experimented upon, _tortured_. Now was his time to give back upon the Maximals one hundred fold.

Calling upon Stricture, he ordered, "Take me to _ma fierté_."

The second in command rose up, tri-wings shaking loose from his box seat to the massacre. "Of course. I am under orders from Misery to first collect our party."

"So be it," Xyston extended his gauntlet to Stricture, palm up, talons reflexively stretching against the restraints that were no longer binding him. The silver and gold male stepped up to the behemoth, waited for Xyston to roll his hand over, then locked his dactyls around the other's in a sign of fealty.

In a flash of smoke, Stricture carried them both through jump points until they settled in proximity to Cybershark and the three factory brothers. They shared a brief exchange, took hold of Stricture's wings, then began the process a second time.

They broke upon arrival at the security tower, and while the brothers, Cybershark, and Stricture walked to the ledge of the platform to stand next to Misery, Xyston remained where he was. _Waiting_.

Turning with arms crossed, Misery stopped short and did not spare glance upon the behemoth. Instead, she was met with a kowtow from Stricture to his captain. "Lady Misery, my captain. Permit me to announce the arrival and return of our honoured comrade: Xyston."

Misery extended a nod to her second, dismissed him by turning, and supplicated her hands to her paramour. "_Ma modestie_, I welcome you once more unto our ranks."

Heavily he stomped to her, each footfall in accent to their sparkbeats. Coming to leer over her, Xyston rose a finger tenderly to Misery's bevor. "_Ma fierté_, my most belovéd queen. I have dreamt of you for a time, but now fate has rendered you to me. Once again we are united, bound until the end, until _Ifa'sé_."

The female Decepticon allowed a smile to grace her lips. She admitted, "I have missed you, _ma modestie_."

"And I, you, _ma fierté_." He bent, drew her lips to his, and tasted of her metal and her emotions. The sensations he had sampled from the scientists over the years were always arrogance and false blitheness, but never true pride. Misery never sought above her station, but she inspired others to be greater than they had previously dreamed. Standing at her side inspired her comrades to better themselves, but the intimacy with the female Decepticon like he had _made_ him better. She was his ineffable pride.

Pulling away slightly, Xyston found nothing had changed between them. As always, any shared touch between the two eventually surmounted to limbs wrapped one over the other in some pale attempt to become unified metaphysically. The distance between them had disappeared wherever their armour permitted. He brushed his lips tenderly over hers for a second helping, shuddering as the wave of her emotion came crashing into him like adrenaline.

Misery found a moment to speak amidst their concupiscent kisses, "_Ma modestie_, I trust my second conveyed my message."

He blinked clarity into his emerald eyes, "It would please me greatly to hear you speak the words, _ma fierté_."

"A dowry of mech and metal, brought in full," she said. Mouth upturning to a smile, Misery went on, "This colony is my gift to you, _ma modestie_, as evidence of my commitment. Eat of it. Taste of it. Drink until your spark is content."

Baring fangs and settling a battlemask into place, Xyston rasped, "Only if you share in it, _ma fierté_."

She nodded, signaling to her second by waving him over. Choosing this time to walk, Stricture came to their side and knelt down before the two. "Post yourself within the scaffold. Do not permit _any_ security officers into the tower." To her comm. link, Misery said, "Shock Therapy."

_~"Yes."~_

"Engage all systems."

_~"Yes."~_

Static crackled spontaneously through the emergency speakers, giving not only the tower, but the entirety of Ward One and beyond a melodious hymn. Buildings and transit units that had been rotationally inactive shook the slumber from their frames, eyes of light and motorous yawns slowed the active denizens to a colony-wide pause. They knew instinctually that the sectors relegated to the interstellar version of night shift had been closed for two megacycles or more.

Bots passing each other on the streets and at the terminals turned to one another, commenting casually yet tentatively upon the over-time companies thoughtlessly deemed necessary. One said to his friend, "So strange," and his friend answered, "It's too bright. I'm not used to it."

Floating above wards One and Two, standing at the base of the tower upon the platform, Misery and Xyston peered over the edge and down upon the colony. Behind them, Misery's brothers came to stand off to the side, with Malice taking a seat with his legs hanging over the platform. On her other side, Cybershark dropped to all fours, pattered to the edge like the others, and bared rows of fangs at the colony.

Overhead, Stricture climbed into the scaffolding of the platform, roosted in the beams, and withdrew his railgun from his back. Raising the sight, he forcibly rolled the rifle in his hands until the modifications left it ready for sniper shooting.

Clapping her hands together once, the female Decepticon did not startle her company as she tardily pulled her palms apart, forming a tiny magnetic ball of energy between her hands. Once the orb came to waver between her gauntlets, Misery directed it over the edge, gently forcing it down to the center of Ward One. All the while, she fed it more energy until it steadily grew in size, and while opaque to the unaided eye, her sensors told her the ball had become the relative diameter of a quarter-mile.

"A new addition, I see. So lovely, so gamy," Xyston ran his talons over Misery's pauldrons from behind, caressing the lines of her wings and smoothing his palms along the major flutes. Trailing his hands over her as he came to stand beside the black and blue female, Xyston opened the shells upon his back that hid his galva-conductors. Static popped and danced as a charge rose from the shells to his pauldrons. Jolts gained in size and momentum, branched down his arms, and coalesced into his hands.

Behind them, Stricture hummed to himself until eventually he began singing, "_And now the kingdom comes / crashing down undone . . ._"

Electricity erupted from the behemoth's hands and zigzagged through the artificial sky. Reaching the ball of magnetic energy, the stopgap bomb exploded and cascaded its blast wave through the colony. Sector by sector shut down, residents in the immediate blast radius fell into stasis. Only through the strength of the shields did those in the tower stand unaffected, and only by preparing the internal shielding of Tyr Corp's systems did that building remain online and functional.

"_Time has stopped before us / the sky cannot ignore us,_" the silver and gold male continued, growing louder to be heard over the secondary wave of the electromagnetic pulse. "_No one can separate us / for we are all that is left . . ._"

"Decepticons, mobilize," Misery waved a hand to Machiavellian, who in turn jumped into the air with Muffle at his side. Malice slid over the edge and spread his wings, using his thrusters to propel himself after his brothers. Cybershark shoved off with his arms and ascended, leaving Misery and Xyston to follow the precession.

Flying at her side, Xyston stretched his body in anticipation before laughing. "Let the feast begin."


End file.
